Murder at Longbourn (25 page)

Coffee was served—by Jackie—in the living room. In her role as hostess, Linnet decreed that we would not talk any more of Gerald’s murder, which pretty much ended the conversation. After finishing our coffee, Aunt Winnie and I thanked Jackie and Linnet for the lunch and made our excuses to leave. Linnet smiled loftily at us from the comfort of the sofa, while Jackie walked us to the door.

“Thank you so much for coming,” Jackie said. “I really enjoyed talking with you. We should do this again soon. In the meantime, keep me posted on what you hear about the murder investigation. I know it sounds ghoulish, but I find the whole thing quite fascinating.”

“I’ll let you know if I hear anything,” I said.

“Good. I just wish I could remember what I saw that night that bothered me.”

“Well, keep trying,” I said. “I’m sure it will come to you.”

“I hope so,” she replied. “I have the feeling that it’s important.”

From inside the house, Linnet’s voice rang out, “Jackie! I need you!”

Jackie called back, “Coming, Linney!” Turning back to us, she said apologetically, “I must go now. Thank you again for coming.” And with that, she shut the door.

I turned to Aunt Winnie. “That woman is unbelievable!” I said. We walked quickly down the stone steps to the driveway. The temperature had dropped again and the wind was howling. Our progress to the car was hampered by Aunt Winnie’s heels. With each step she sank into the gravel on the driveway and threatened to topple over. I grabbed her arm to steady her.

Aunt Winnie pulled her coat closer. “Which one?”

“Linnet Westin. The way she treats Jackie, it’s despicable!”

“True, but we don’t know all the ins and outs of their relationship.”

“Well, that may be so,” I said, as I propelled us to the car, “but I still don’t see how she puts up with being treated like a servant.”

“I know,” Aunt Winnie replied with a small smile, “but you do not make allowance enough for the difference of situation and temper. Seriously, though, we don’t know how bad Jackie’s situation was before this. Being bossed around by Linnet might be preferable to whatever she had before.”

I opened Aunt Winnie’s car door for her and ran around to my door while she started up the engine. Inside, I leaned over and turned up the heat full blast. I placed my hands against the vents, waiting for the hot air to warm them. Aunt Winnie sighed.

I glanced over at her. Her eyes were dull and her lips were pulled into a frown. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said. “It’s just that I was hoping we’d learn something today, but if anything I think Jackie learned more from us than we did from her. We have nothing more than when we got here. I have to be honest, I don’t relish being the police’s top suspect.
I had hoped that you’d have something more to tell Detective Stewart when you meet him later.” Wearily, she rubbed her hands across her eyes.

“Don’t be absurd,” I said, with a confidence I didn’t feel. My stomach twisted with guilt. I knew I was right not to tell her yet about the new evidence against her, but it still made me feel rotten.

“I don’t know, sweetie,” she said. “For the first time since this terrible thing happened, I’m worried.”

“Well, don’t be,” I said. “The police will find the killer soon. I know it.”

Up ahead the traffic light flipped to yellow and Aunt Winnie gently applied the brake. Watching her slow down for a yellow light was like being kicked in the stomach. I was so preoccupied with worrying over the draining effect this murder investigation was having on her that I almost missed her next words. “I just can’t wait until all of this is over,” she said tiredly.

My brain froze. I had heard those very same words before. Slowly, my mind thawed and certain facts swirled in my head like tiny snowflakes, until a definite pattern began to emerge.

Suddenly, I felt much better about my meeting with Detective Stewart.

I
MPATIENT FOR MY meeting with Detective Stewart, I arrived at the Flowering Teapot early. The atmosphere was tranquil; a fair number of customers sat lingering over their tea, enjoying the soft afternoon light and the scents of banana and nutmeg from the day’s special. Apparently the shop’s only anomaly amid all the calm, I sat down at an empty table. My stomach was in knots and I nervously picked at my fingernails.

As soon as she saw me, Lily came over. “Elizabeth! How nice to see you again. What can I do for you?”

“I’m meeting Detective Stewart here.”

“Really?” Her voice rose. “Why? What’s going on?”

I opened my mouth to tell her but thought better of it. Besides, what exactly was I going to tell her? That Detective Stewart thought he had evidence against Aunt Winnie? That I found a necklace with strange initials on it? It would be all over town within fifteen minutes. “Oh, nothing much,” I lied. “He just wants to double-check some things about the other night.”

“Well, I hope they find whoever did it soon. It’s all anyone can talk about around here.” She gestured at the other patrons in the
shop, some of whom were openly staring in my direction. If they thought I was interesting now, I’d be absolutely fascinating once Detective Stewart showed up.

“Let me bring you some tea,” Lily said, as the small silver bell on the door tinkled, announcing a new arrival. It was Detective Stewart. With his presence, the atmosphere in the shop changed. The lazy, relaxed feeling was gone, and in its place there was a charged anticipation as everyone surreptitiously watched his movements.

Looking every bit the bull in the china shop, he lumbered in my direction, leaving a trail of slushy snow in his wake. Behind him, Pansy shook her head disparagingly at the mess before going for a mop. Detective Stewart’s heavy black overcoat added at least three inches of mass to his already stocky frame and his bulky snow boots clomped loudly across the floor. With a brief nod to Lily, he sat down in the chair opposite me. “Hello, Ms. Parker,” he said gruffly.

“Hello, Detective Stewart,” I replied. “I’ve just ordered some tea, would you like some as well?”

“Um … do you have coffee?” he asked Lily hopefully.

“Of course,” she answered.

Relief spread across his broad face. “I’ll have coffee, please.”

“Coming right up.” Lily bustled off.

Detective Stewart shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and it occurred to me that my suggestion to meet here had been unintentionally brilliant. Detective Stewart was out of his element and ill at ease. Using this to my advantage, I said, “So what do you think about what I told you on the phone? What do you think it means?”

“You mean the necklace?” He shrugged slightly. “I admit it’s odd, but it doesn’t prove anything. However, we do have some new evidence that does suggest—”

“What do you mean it doesn’t prove anything?” I interrupted.
“Someone is missing a necklace that she—or he—doesn’t want anyone to know about!”

Lily returned carrying a tray with two steaming pots. Detective Stewart poured out a cup of coffee for himself and took a sip. His large, blunt hands looked ridiculous holding the delicate cup.

“Ms. Parker, I’m not saying that what you saw isn’t without merit, but—”

“Have you checked it out? What about the initials? Whose initials are they?”

“I don’t have the answer to that,” he said. “But I’m working on it.”

“You’re working on it? What does that mean? I’ve been thinking about this, and the only people not already known around here are the Andersons. Are they who they say they are?”

“As far as I’ve been able to tell, they are indeed who they claim to be.” Reaching into his overcoat, he pulled out his scruffy black notebook. Flipping it open, he read, “ ‘Henry Anderson, age fifty-eight. His first wife, Valerie, died seven years ago from breast cancer. Runs an antiques business. Married Joan Baxter, age fifty-six, four years ago. It is her first marriage. Together they run an antiques store called Old Things.’ ” He closed the book and regarded me calmly.

“I still say there’s something going on there. The night after Gerald’s murder, I found Joan in the dining room. She said she’d been outside smoking. She said that Henry hated her smoking, which was why she was hiding it. But then I saw Henry outside smoking himself!”

“Lots of couples have secrets from each other.”

“I still say there’s something going on there,” I repeated stubbornly.

“And as I said, we’re looking into that.”

“Well, you don’t seem to be looking very hard!” I leaned across
the small table and pounded my forefinger onto the linen tablecloth for emphasis. “This is important! And there’s something else. On the morning of the murder, when I was bringing out the coffee, I overheard Joan. I didn’t think anything of it at the time—in fact, I forgot all about it until this afternoon. Joan seemed upset and she said to Henry, ‘I can’t wait until this is all over.’ Now, why would she say that?” I asked. “By her own account, she was looking forward to the evening, so what was she afraid of? And there’s more. Joan and Polly were seen talking together in town today.”

Detective Stewart put down his now empty cup; he had drained its contents in two quick gulps. Wearily rubbing a hand across his face, he said, “Ms. Parker, two people talking in the street isn’t a crime.”

“No, but you have to admit that it’s suspicious, especially when these same two people who are supposed to have no prior relationship were also talking outside in a blizzard, no less! Aren’t you curious to know what they were talking about?”

Detective Stewart stared at me. “Are you always this bullheaded?”

“When it’s my aunt’s life on the line, yes. What’s your excuse?”

We glared at each other while being stared at by most of the shop’s occupants. Detective Stewart put his head back and laughed. It was a harsh noise, like a car speeding down a gravel driveway in reverse. The few customers who hadn’t been staring at us now abandoned all restraint and turned to watch.

“Detective Stewart? Are you all right?” I asked. I was pretty sure he was laughing, but he could have been having some kind of seizure.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Parker. Excuse me. You always seem to take me by surprise.”

I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. “Detective Stewart,” I said, getting back to the topic at hand, “my aunt did not kill Gerald Ramsey. I’ve known her all my life and for you to think such
a thing—for anyone to think such a thing,” I said, a shade louder for the benefit of the shop’s customers, “is ridiculous.”

Detective Stewart lowered his voice. “Your loyalty to your aunt does you credit, Ms. Parker.”

“Elizabeth.”

He nodded his head. “Elizabeth. As I was saying, your loyalty to your aunt does you credit, but there are facts associated with this case that are hard to overlook.”

“Such as?”

He held up his hand and ticked off the items on his beefy fingers. “Well, for one thing, there’s the fact that Gerald Ramsey desperately wanted your aunt’s inn.”

“So?”

“So,” he continued, “this wasn’t just simple coveting on Mr. Ramsey’s part. He was taking distinct measures to force your aunt to sell him the property. We know for a fact that he was using his influence on the zoning board not only to change certain requirements but also to establish new ones, the sole purpose of which seemed designed to drive your aunt out of business.”

“I already knew that,” I said. “Aunt Winnie told me herself my first night here. And I can tell you that she wasn’t concerned in the least about it. My aunt is tougher than you realize. She knows how to handle bullies like Gerald Ramsey.”

The eyebrow that I had grown to despise during my New Year’s Day interview with him now shot up. “Don’t go looking for innuendo where there is none,” I said quickly. “She wasn’t going to let Gerald Ramsey use the zoning board against her. She had her own plan to retaliate, a plan that didn’t include murder. She has a friend on the local newspaper here and she was going to make this story public. You know, corruption on the zoning board, greed run amok,
that kind of thing. She was going to fight back, but within the confines of the law.”

Detective Stewart had taken out his notebook during my tirade and was jotting down notes.

“Is that all you have?” I asked, although I knew his answer before he gave it.

“No,” he said. “There’s the fact that other than the actors, your aunt was the only one who knew when the lights were going to be turned off. She herself turned them off.”

“But I already told you, you could guess that the lights were going to be turned off after reading the invitation. It said that there would be ‘screams in the dark.’ I think that’s why when the lights did go out no one was really surprised. We were all halfway expecting it. Now, I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to assume that if I was expecting it, then so was the murderer. All he or she had to do was keep an eye out and be at the ready.”

The traces of a smile—or a grimace—played on his lips. I think he was enjoying this. However, all he said was, “It’s a possibility.”