The Butler Didn't Do It (A Maddox Storm Mystery Book 2) (3 page)

By seven pm, we were all gathered in the lounge for pre-dinner drinks. Including Jenna, who’d be staying the night the same as any other guest. More than a few male gazes followed as she made her way across the room toward me. I bit down on a smile. Seriously, she was like a modern day Helen of Troy. It wasn’t just that she was tall, slender, blonde and beautiful. She carried that extra something, that elusive essence that could sink a thousand men.

“Here you go.” She pressed a tumbler into my hands, leaning in to whisper, “You’re going to need it with this crowd.”

My gaze scanned the room as I sipped on the whiskey. “Actually, they seem to be mixing rather well.”

I’d worried that the eclectic mixture would be a hostess’ nightmare, but the Parkers seemed to have hit it off with Miss Crawley and Mr Hollow. The refined Charles Sitter, an elderly gentleman with an apparent preference for bowties, was engaged in a spirited argument with Julie Brown, a middle-aged woman with big spectacles and big hair and a nasal drawl. The other two groups that had formed were even more unlikely.

Even Burns seemed more awake than usual from his position tending the bar. All in all, I had a good feeling about the weekend.

I turned to Jenna. “Is Jack stopping by later?”

She shook her head on a sigh. “Deputy Harvey’s ulcer is playing up again, so Jack’s basically
on-duty
permanently until Chief Matthews gets back from Hawaii on Tuesday.”

“He still has to eat and sleep.”

“He spent last night on a sofa at the station even though Deputy Harvey assured him he only has to make sure his cell is on at all times.” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “He’s freaked out at being left in charge.”

“I don’t blame him,” I said. “He’s only been out of the academy a couple of months.”

“Yeah, well, he’s going to have his own ulcer to deal with if he keeps this up.”

I placed a hand on her arm. “You guys okay?”

“More than okay, otherwise I wouldn’t bother worrying so much about him. And that’s enough about my life, let’s talk about my death.” Jenna glanced around, her mouth twitching mischievously. “Which of these dastardly folk are about to murder me?”

I laughed. “I have absolutely no idea, but do me a favor, will you? I’m about to kick off the event and my mother wanted to hear. She’s in the kitchen.”

She eyed me over the rim of her glass. “You seriously don’t know?”

“Cross my heart and pray not to die young,” I said solemnly, our version of a pinkie-swear. “At this point, I doubt Joe even knows.”

“He’s still scribbling away at it?”

“We can hope.” I shooed her off, then set my glass on a pedestal table and clapped my hands together to get everyone’s attention.

I’d met and greeted our guests individually on arrival, but I opened my speech with a formal welcome before launching into, “Now, I’m sure you’re all
dying
to know what format this weekend’s murder mystery will take.”

My weak joke got exactly one giggle, from Lydia Fieldman, and I’d already pinned her as an odd one. My first impression had been retired librarian. Grey bun, pointy spectacles dangling from a chain, bubble-knit cardigan worn over a printed frock, sturdy lace-up shoes. But on closer inspection, her face was completely unlined and her hair was the kind of silver that came out of a bottle.

Curious indeed.

Jenna stepped into the room with my mom in tow. I sent them a quick smile before continuing.

“The format is actually pretty relaxed, allowing you to participate as much or as little as you wish and to enjoy the amenities of Hollow House and our delightful town.” My gaze swept the audience as I spoke, trying to gauge the reaction, but all I got was a sea of poker faces. “The only real formality is tomorrow morning between nine and eleven, during which time the murder will occur, and where everyone is required to play their part. You will each receive an envelope at breakfast which will contain your script and I ask you to please follow it strictly.”

This evoked a low murmuring and I waited a beat for the room to quieten.

“At eleven o’clock, you’ll each be handed a second envelope which should only be opened in private. This envelope will detail your specific relationship to the victim and it will also indicate if you are, in fact, the murderer. The rest of the weekend is up to you, questioning and snooping to your heart’s content. There’s only one rule. You may lie, but if you’re called out on it with any proof or another witness statement, then you’re obliged to tell the truth in that particular instance. Does everyone understand?”

Plenty of nods and some excited chatter. The format Joe and I had come up with didn’t totally suck.

“At Sunday lunch we’ll collect your conclusions, do the reveal and award certificates.” I looked around, smiling warmly. “Well, that’s about it.”

Joe appeared in the doorway, attracting stares as he waved a thick wad of red envelopes at me.

He’d come through for me.

I released a slow breath of relief and gave him a nod, holding up a finger to indicate I’d be right there. “Dinner will be served shortly. Meanwhile, it’s a lovely evening and the terrace doors are open if you’d like to take your drinks outside. The view is spectacular.”

Another smile, and then I made my way over to Joe.

My mother reached him first. “Hello, Joseph,” she said coolly. “How are you?”

“Um, good, Mrs Storm, and how are…” He trailed off as he realized he was speaking to himself. My mother was already hurrying down the passage to the kitchen.

“I really appreciate this.” I plucked the wad of envelopes from his hand. “Thanks, Joe.”

He shrugged. “No need to thank me. We both have as much to gain if the inn starts looking good to potential investors.”

When he turned toward the stairs, I called him back. “Aren’t you joining us for dinner?”

“I’ll grab something later.” He pressed the base of his palm to his temple. “You know what I’m like when there’s a scene running loose inside here.”

“Yeah, I do,” I said softly, feeling that twang of familiarity pull at my heartstrings. I shook it off with a silent curse. “I’ll send Burns up with a plate.”

He tipped his head at me and turned again to climb the stairs.

Mom hadn’t run off to the kitchen. She emerged from the shadows alongside the staircase as soon as Joe was out of sight.

My mouth gaped open. I loved my mom to bits, I really did, but this was precisely the kind of thing that drove me nuts. “Where you spying on us?”

“Of course not, honey.” She wrung her hands together, her expression pained with the injustice of the wrongly accused. “I was just waiting for Joseph to leave. I don’t know how to talk to the man. I want to hate him, but that doesn’t seem right. And I can’t like him, not after what he’s done, can I?”

The irritation washed out of me. This was her first encounter with Joe since he’d moved in and to be fair, the situation was rather confusing.

“Joe is still Joe, he’s just not my Joe anymore,” I told her. “You don’t have to hate him. You don’t have to like him. And I don’t expect you to ostracize him for the sheer hell of it. As you may have noticed, Joe and I are getting along perfectly fine.”

“Yes, I certainly did notice,” Mom said, that hopeful lilt in her tone a dead giveaway.

I blew out a grumpy breath. “
That
is not going to happen, ever.”

How had I not seen this coming? According to my mom, there was one thing worse than a cheating husband: the scandal of divorce.

“If you say so, honey,” she said sweetly. “Now, are those the secret envelopes?”

A blatant re-direct, but I took it. With a spit of luck, Joe would be long gone before Mom’s meddling became a real issue.

“Yes, they are.” I slapped the wad into one palm with a grin and crawled into the alcove beneath the stairs to drag out the wicker basket I’d stashed there earlier.

Mom peered over my shoulder as I unlatched and raised the lid. “Is that a rope? Oh, my, that’s the murder weapon!”

I uncoiled the length of rope to show her the clever clasp on the noose. “This snaps open with the slightest pressure. Even if something went awfully wrong, which it won’t, there’s no way this could strangle Jenna.”

“It’s all so morbid, but I must admit, intriguing all the same. Should we take a peek inside the envelopes?”

“Absolutely not.” I nestled the rope back into the basket, dropped the envelopes in and closed the lid firmly before shoving the basket into the dark depths of the alcove. “No one can weasel information out of you that you don’t have.”

FOUR

Dinner was an interesting affair with lively conversation that circled and then finally centered on the psychoanalysis of a serial killer’s mind. Not exactly light small talk, but I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised given the common interest that had drawn my guests.

Tomorrow we’d eat under starlight on the terrace, but I’d decided on the dining room for tonight so everyone could sit at one table and get to know each other. Sticking to my theme of
loose structure
, I’d forgone place cards and somehow found myself seated between Miss Crawley and Jonas Mayer, a weathered looking man with a thick crop of salt and pepper hair and a toothy smile.

Jonas was pretty harmless, an accountant who’d apparently driven up from Scranton in Pennsylvania. Miss Crawley, on the other hand, sent my table manners into a nervous flutter. The bird-like woman could put the fear of God into you with a simple disapproving smile, and she disapproved a lot. For the life of me, I suddenly couldn’t remember which knife was the butter spreader and which one to save for the pink salmon starter.

I reached for my glass of wine, deciding I didn’t really need that crispy bread roll anyway.

Halfway down the length of the table, Jenna shot me a sympathetic smile. She, naturally, had snagged a spot between the vibrant Ella Parker and the only eligible—entirely too suitable—male. Mason Sash was not the kind of man I would have pegged for an amateur sleuth. Early thirties, strong jaw, dreamy dark brown hair, dreamy darker eyes.

“That was an interesting twist, my dear.”

I snapped my stare from Mason to Miss Crawley. “Sorry?”

She gave my inattention a disapproving
tut
, but didn’t comment further. “Your rule on permitting lies until called out on it. It adds an extra depth of sleuthing that sounds quite appealing. Usually, in my experience that is, one may only evade when asked directly if they’re the murderer, which renders the question obsolete.”

My eyes rounded on her. “You’ve attended one of these parties before?”

“Not to blow my own horn, dear, but I was something of a legend on the circuit back in the eighties.” She lowered her head, peering at me over the top of her rimless bifocals. “They used to call me The Beagle.”

My lips twitched. “But not anymore?”

“Goodness, no, my old bones don’t travel well anymore.” She sighed and broke off a tiny piece of roll. “When you presented the opportunity right here in my back yard, however, I couldn’t resist.”

“Well, I cannot wait to see The Beagle in action,” I said, chuckling softly. Miss Crawley was human after all. Without thinking, I buttered my roll and took a bite.

Miss Crawley’s mouth pulled down at the corners. “My dearest child, did your poor mother never teach you how to eat? The roll stays on the plate, always. A lady only ever tears off a small portion at a time.”

I nodded with an apologetic grimace, too busy choking on my mouthful of bread to defend my
poor mother
.

Despite my faux pas, the rest of the meal proceeded smoothly. Although I couldn’t help feeling like a spoilt princess while Mom slaved over a five course menu in the kitchen and Burns served and cleared.

We’d decided beforehand that, as hostess, I should take all meals with the guests. Be available for chatter and questions. And it would be too awkward if I stood up in between courses to help clear the table.

Still, we were understaffed and guilt pushed me to my feet when Burns brought in chocolate custard dumplings.

I excused myself from the table, reminding everyone that coffee would be served in the lounge once they’d finished their dessert, and fled to the kitchen.

As I’d suspected, Mom was elbow-deep in dishwater by the sink.

“I’ll do the dishes,” I said as I walked up.

She shook her head. “You should be out there, honey, entertaining your guests.”

“They seem to be doing an excellent job of entertaining themselves,” I assured her, taking her firmly by the shoulders and guiding her to a chair at the oak table. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes, and I made sure Burns ate something as well. The man’s been run off his feet.”

“I’m looking into temp agencies first thing Monday morning,” I said as I went to put the kettle on the stove for tea. “We’ll be more organized next time we have such a big party. You definitely need an extra hand here in the kitchen.”

“I was thinking of an apprentice,” Mom said. “Someone I could train as assistant chef.”