Murder in the Margins

by Margaret Loudon

  * * *

  * * *

  Penelope stared woefully at the contents of her closet. Derek was taking her, Figgy, and Mabel out for dinner at Pierre’s to celebrate Figgy’s birthday, and she wanted to wear something other than her usual leggings and a sweater. Her closet, however, did not yield anything particularly special, not even after she had gone through everything on the rod twice.

  Suddenly she remembered a paisley pashmina shawl a college friend had brought her after spending a semester in India. She couldn’t imagine why she’d thought to bring it with her. She dug through her bureau and pulled it out. She would wear black trousers, a black sweater, and drape the colorful shawl around her shoulders.

  Penelope put on the black trousers from her pantsuit and a black turtleneck sweater, and arranged the shawl just so. She looked in the mirror. She thought even her sister, Beryl, would approve of the outfit—smart and sophisticated but without being fussy. Penelope just didn’t do fussy.

  Mrs. Danvers snaked in and out between Penelope’s legs and Penelope suspected the cat was trying to transfer as much of her fur as possible to her pants.

  She bent down and scratched Mrs. Danvers’s back. Mrs. Danvers immediately retreated to the farthest corner of the room and sat with her back to Penelope.

  Penelope retrieved her coat from the foyer closet and slipped it on. She’d decided she would walk to Pierre’s, which was next to the Open Book, so not that far. Mabel, Figgy, and Derek would be meeting her at the restaurant.

  Penelope ran into Mabel just as Mabel was about to open the door to Pierre’s. They went inside together where the warm air was a welcome change from the brisk nighttime temperatures. The restaurant was redolent with the scent of garlic, herbs, and butter. Penelope’s mouth began to water almost immediately.

  Derek and Figgy were already seated at a table. A bottle of champagne sat next to them in a bucket filled with ice, and champagne flutes were set out at every place. Derek jumped up when he saw Penelope and Mabel. He kissed them both on each cheek and then pulled out their chairs.

  Penelope noticed that Figgy was glowing. Her face was slightly pink, and she couldn’t stop smiling.

  “I wonder what Derek got Figgy for her birthday,” Mabel whispered to Penelope. “She seems terribly pleased about something.”

  A waiter appeared, retrieved the bottle of champagne from the ice, wrapped a white cloth around the bottom, and filled each of the glasses. He then disappeared as silently as he had arrived.

  Derek stood up and held his glass aloft. Penelope supposed he was going to make a birthday toast, and she reached for her own glass.

  Derek cleared his throat. “I would like to wish my beautiful fiancée a happy birthday,” he began. “And to announce that she has accepted my proposal of marriage and agreed to be not just my wife, but my life mate and my soul mate.”

  Penelope and Mabel gasped, then quickly raised their glasses.

  “Happy birthday to Figgy and congratulations to you both,” Mabel said. “What splendid news.”

  They clinked glasses all around.

  Figgy held out her hand, which Penelope realized she had been keeping hidden under the table, and wiggled her fingers. A diamond ring sparkled on the third finger of her left hand.

  “It’s beautiful,” Penelope said, holding Figgy’s hand as she examined the ring.

  “Derek had it made especially for me at the Crown Jewels here in town,” Figgy said with a proud smile. “It’s an antique setting that’s come back in style again.”

  “It’s perfect,” Penelope said, and she meant it. The ring was so Figgy—elegant and yet still different enough to stand out.

  “This is a wonderful occasion,” Mabel said, taking a sip of her champagne. “I’m happy for you both.”

  Penelope was happy for them, too. It was obvious they were in love. They were different and yet they complemented each other. Derek was in finance—a fairly conservative field—and was quite successful, but he had an unconventional side to him as well. Figgy appeared to be a total free spirit, but she managed to successfully run a business.

  There was only one problem—Figgy’s extremely conservative mother. Penelope wasn’t going to bring that up, though—this was a night for celebrating—Figgy and Derek would have to deal with that later.

  The waiter appeared again to take their order. Penelope was torn—there were so many delicious choices—cassoulet, osso buco, lamb Provençal, roast duck with cherry-rosemary sauce.

  She finally decided on the cassoulet and handed the waiter her menu.

  A party of three was being seated at a table near them. Penelope looked up and saw that one of the guests was in a wheelchair. She also recognized Daphne and Gordon.

  “Is that Daphne’s sister?” she said to Mabel.

  Mabel turned around and looked. “Yes, that’s Layla. How nice of Gordon to take them out to dinner—and to such a lovely restaurant. I know Layla isn’t able to get out much.”

  Mabel turned back to Penelope, Figgy, and Derek. “Have you set a date for the wedding yet?” She laughed. “I suppose it’s early days yet—you’ve only just gotten engaged.”

  “No,” Figgy said. “We haven’t even told our families yet.” Her expression clouded. “But I don’t want to think about that right now. I want to live in the moment.” She beamed at Derek.

  The waiter brought their appetizers—Penelope had chosen a bowl of butternut squash bisque. It had a swirl of crème fraîche on top and was dotted with toasted pecans.

  “Do you smell something funny?” Derek said, putting down his fork. He sat up and sniffed.

  “Just the smell of yummy food,” Penelope said, tilting her bowl and finishing up the last spoonsful of her soup.

  “I don’t smell anything either,” Mabel said.

  “It smells like something burning.” Derek half rose from his chair.

  “Oh no,” Figgy said. “Let’s hope the chef hasn’t burned our dinner. I’m really looking forward to having their coq au vin.”

  Derek sat down again. He laughed. “I suppose that does happen occasionally even in the best of restaurants.”

  The waiter approached their table, a tray balanced on the palm of his hand. He put it down in back of them and began placing their meals in front of them.

  “Did you notice a funny smell?” Derek asked as the waiter set a plate in front of Figgy. “Like something burning?”

  “Non,” the waiter said in a strong French accent.

  He finished serving the table and quickly disappeared.

  “I don’t think he appreciated your telling him you thought something was burning,” Figgy said with a mischievous smile. “He’s probably run to tell the chef and who knows what they’ll put in our dessert.”

  They all laughed.

  Just then there was a commotion at the back of the dining room and people began to turn in that direction.

  A busboy came through the swinging door to the kitchen. His eyes were wild and staring like a spooked horse and his hair was disheveled. He opened his mouth but at first nothing came out.

  “Fire,” he finally blurted out. “Everyone get out.”

  The room, which had been fairly hushed, was suddenly filled with the sounds of chairs scraping back and people’s raised and panicked voices.

  “No need to be alarmed,” Derek said, throwing his napkin down on the table. “We’re near enough to the door and it seems as if the fire is quite small and contained in the kitchen.” He pulled out Figgy’s chair and took her hand in his. “Let’s go,” he said, smiling at her.

  “We’d best hurry,” Mabel said. “I should imagine these old buildings would go up like tinder boxes if the fire got out of hand. I do hope the fire doesn’t spread. Figgy’s apartment is right above.”

  Meanwhile, sirens sounded outside and soon they saw rotating flashing red l
ights through the window.

  “Our coats . . .” Figgy said, hesitating in front of the curtained alcove where the patrons’ coats were hung.

  “I don’t think we should try to retrieve them,” Derek said, shepherding them toward the door. “We might be in the way.”

  Mabel stopped suddenly. “I wonder if Daphne and Gordon need any help with Daphne’s sister,” she said, turning around to check. She gasped and pointed behind her.

  Layla was on her feet, her wheelchair abandoned at the dining table. She was pushing her way through the crowd, a look of panic on her face.

  “What?” Penelope exclaimed. She exchanged a glance with Mabel. “But how . . .”

  “Something very fishy is going on here,” Mabel said. “And it’s not the sole meunière Derek ordered for dinner.”

  One or two couples began walking toward their cars parked along the high street, but everyone else huddled around the front door of Pierre’s, undecided as to what to do, their breaths making frosty clouds in the air. Penelope wrapped her shawl around her more tightly, glad that she had thought to wear it.

  Mabel was sensibly dressed as always in a warm purple heather sweater and gray wool slacks. Figgy, however, was shivering in her sleeveless black jumpsuit and strappy sandals and had her arms wrapped around herself to try to stay warm.

  “You must be freezing.” Derek whipped off his suit jacket and draped it around Figgy’s shoulders.

  “I don’t see Layla anywhere, do you?” Mabel said to Penelope, twisting around to look in back of her.

  “I don’t either,” Penelope said, “but there’s Gordon and Daphne.”

  “Oh, my,” Mabel said. “Gordon doesn’t look too happy.”

  Gordon’s face was beet red, and it wasn’t from the cold. Daphne appeared as if she was about to cry.

  “It looks like Daphne and her sister were putting one over on poor Gordon. It’s pretty clear that Layla doesn’t need that wheelchair and probably never did. But they managed to get a car and who knows what else out of Gordon. He’s not going to take kindly to being made a fool of,” Mabel said.

  “Is it possible that Layla fooled Daphne as well? Maybe she didn’t know.”

  “Hard to believe she wasn’t in on it,” Mabel said. “Layla was bound to slip up at one point or another and the jig would have been up.”

  “I wonder if Regina knew or found out somehow,” Penelope said.

  Mabel raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be surprised in the least if she did. And that gives Daphne another reason to want to get rid of Regina. The whole house of cards would have come tumbling down—no chance of marrying Gordon and not even the chance he’d continue with his gifts, which I am sure have made Daphne’s life quite a bit easier.”

  Penelope looked over at Daphne and Gordon again. They were standing next to each other in stony silence.

  A thought suddenly occurred to Penelope. If Daphne’s sister wasn’t really disabled, then Daphne would have had no reason to take her sister to the hospital the day of the fest—which meant she didn’t have an alibi after all.

  SEVENTEEN

  Penelope rolled over, opened one eye, glanced at her alarm clock, and sighed. She had another half hour before she had to get up. She burrowed deeper under the down comforter and closed her eyes.

  A noise woke her moments later. Something banging. It took her several long seconds to realize someone was knocking on her front door.

  Reluctantly, she threw back the covers and got out of bed. She didn’t bother with a robe—in fact she didn’t even own one—she’d slept in her usual outfit of an old pair of sweatpants she’d had since college and a long-sleeved T-shirt with a hole under the arm and Cornell University written on the front. She’d borrowed it from a guy she’d dated so long ago she didn’t remember his name and had forgotten to give it back.

  Mrs. Danvers accompanied Penelope down the stairs, meowing her displeasure at having been woken so early. She wove in and out between Penelope’s legs, but fortunately Penelope had by now perfected the art—if you could call it that—of not tripping over the cat.

  Penelope crossed the foyer and pulled open the front door.

  It was pelting rain outside and nearly as dark as dusk due to the heavy cloud cover. Ashlyn was huddled on the doorstep, sheltering from the weather under the small overhang.

  “Ashlyn! Today’s not your day.” Penelope rubbed her eyes. “Besides, it’s so early.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ashlyn said, stepping into Penelope’s foyer. “I didn’t mean to wake you, but I need to talk to you, and I have to be at Mrs. Turner’s by seven thirty or she’ll raise an unholy fuss. She has a fit if I’m even five minutes late.”

  “Come in,” Penelope said. “You can put your coat on the coat-tree.”

  Ashlyn took off her raincoat, which was soaked in the back where the water dripping off Penelope’s roof had run down it.

  They went into the sitting room and Ashlyn perched on the edge of the sofa. She was clearly in some sort of distress—her eyes were red rimmed as if she’d been crying and she was twisting the button on her shirt so energetically that Penelope was afraid it was going to pop right off at any minute.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” Penelope hesitated by the kitchen door.

  “That would be brilliant.” Ashlyn gave a weak smile.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Penelope filled the kettle with water and plugged it in. She’d gone full-on English and had purchased an electric teakettle. According to Figgy, the water boiled faster and the kettle had an auto shutoff feature, which appealed to Penelope.

  The kettle whistled, Penelope rinsed out a mug with hot water, dropped in an Irish breakfast tea bag, and poured the water.

  “Here you are,” she said, putting the mug down in front of Ashlyn. Penelope sat in the armchair nearest the fireplace.

  “I’m sorry to bother you like this,” Ashlyn said. “I don’t know who else to talk to.” She made an attempt at a smile. “People in this town will talk—know what I mean? But you’re not from here and you’re a writer so you must be smart,” she said in a rush. “You’ll know what to do.”

  “Do you want to tell me what the problem is?”

  Ashlyn sniffed and nodded her head. She cradled the mug in her hand. “I told her not to do it. I didn’t know they were going to sue.”

  “Who was going to sue?”

  “The duke, who else? Haven’t you seen the paper?” She sniffed again. “Everyone is talking about it.”

  Penelope felt like she was having one of those dreams where nothing made sense although you kept trying and trying to put the pieces together.

  “Who did you tell not to do it?”

  “My sister, Gracelyn. I told her she shouldn’t have done it.”

  “What did she do?” Penelope tucked her feet up under her. She was wearing socks, but there was a draft coming from the fireplace.

  “She found it, didn’t she? That filthy magazine that had the pictures of Miss Davenport.”

  Penelope sat up a bit straighter. This was an unexpected turn of events.

  “How did your sister find that magazine? Where was it?”

  “Gracelyn works as a maid at Worthington House. She used to clean for Mrs. Bosworth and Mrs. Bosworth got her that job. The duke pays well and Gracelyn doesn’t want to lose her position so I told her that in that case she was a ninny to have done it.”

  Penelope still wasn’t clear about what the hapless Gracelyn had done. Fortunately Ashlyn continued with her story.

  “Mrs. Bosworth got Gracelyn that job so that Gracelyn could fill her in on things—you know, what was going on at Worthington House and all. Mrs. Bosworth was that interested. So when Gracelyn found that magazine her first thought was to show it to Mrs. Bosworth.”

  Penelope wondered how Gracelyn had “found” th
e magazine. It sounded more as if she’d been snooping where she shouldn’t have.

  “What happened then?” Penelope asked although she could guess.

  “Mrs. Bosworth told her to leave it with her—that she’d handle it—that Gracelyn might even get some money for it. Gracelyn was that excited—she’s been saving for ages to go on holiday to Majorca with a bunch of her pals from school.”

  Ashlyn took a sip of her tea and looked up at Penelope with what Penelope thought of as puppy dog eyes.

  “Do you think Gracelyn will get in trouble? The magazine wasn’t hers and she took it.”

  “I don’t know,” Penelope admitted. “I hope not.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Despite her umbrella, the hem of Penelope’s raincoat was soaked when she arrived at the Open Book.

  “Good heavens, Pen,” Mabel said. “You’re soaked. Did you walk?”

  “Yes,” Penelope said, shaking out her umbrella. “I decided it was safer, given my tendency to drive on the wrong side of the street.”

  “Very wise,” Mabel said. “I’m surprised you decided to come out in this weather.”

  “My book group wanted to reschedule for today since several of them can’t make it next week. They should be here in about fifteen minutes. Meanwhile, I’ll go see if Figgy needs any help. Sometimes I think they just come for the food,” Pen said over her shoulder.

  Figgy already had a table set up with teacups, saucers, and small plates.

  “What’s on the menu today?” Penelope said.

  She noticed that Figgy’s eyes had a faraway dreamy look to them.

  “I’ve made shortbread cookies and some fairy cakes. I’m afraid I made a proper mess of the Victoria sponge cake. I’m still a bit overwhelmed by Derek’s proposal.” She glanced at the diamond ring on her finger, then waved her hand toward Penelope. “It’s positively smashing, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is,” Penelope said. “It was quite an evening what with the fire and all.”

  Figgy giggled. “Yes. And in the end the inconvenience was worth it since the meal was free. Derek wasn’t half-pleased by that. Of course we never did get to the main course, but I have to say the fish and chips from the Chumley Chippie tasted delicious. We were all quite peckish by then.”