A Cozy Little Murder: A Violet Carlyle Cozy Historical Mystery (The Violet Carlyle Mysteries Book 24)

by Beth Byers

  “What about it, Vi?”

  “What about what?” Vi asked.

  His slow grin made her shiver, and she knew that she was getting sucked into trouble that would make Jack want to wring her neck. “Just a little help.”

  “I have plans with Rita today,” Vi tried lamely. She was bored enough that she could be convinced.

  “I don’t know, Vi—” Beatrice started and Smith shot her a look.

  “If you can do it, she can do it.”

  “You’re going to get her into trouble,” Beatrice told him.

  “I would never get you into trouble.”

  “Me,” Beatrice countered with emphasis.

  “I won’t get Vi in trouble,” Smith said easily. “Jack would murder me slowly and painfully. I just need a woman for this bit. Rita could come too.”

  “Are you going to explain what I need to do?” Vi asked, glancing between the two of them with surprise.

  “You are not going to get Vi into trouble,” Beatrice said firmly.

  “That’s what I said,” Smith replied.

  “That means no arrests.”

  Smith met Beatrice’s gaze and whatever she saw in there made her add, “Or chased by men with weapons.”

  “I can’t imagine that happening,” Smith said.

  Beatrice was not comforted. “Vi is important to me.”

  “I know.”

  “A friend.”

  “I know.”

  “Like a sister.”

  “Beatrice—”

  Was that an edge of impatience? Vi bit down on her bottom lip to hide a reaction and watched the two of them shoot replies back and forth like a tennis match.

  “You’ll take care of her and Rita, just like you would me.”

  “No,” Smith said. “But I’ll take care of them all the same. Don’t worry. I wouldn’t come and get you for something I thought might be dangerous.”

  Beatrice’s scoff was, Vi thought, very, very interesting.

  Smith stood. “Come on then, Vi. If you’ve the courage—” There was a pure challenge in that tone and Vi rose, almost incapable of ignoring it.

  “Smith, I mean it,” Beatrice repeated.

  His answer was quite a heated kiss and Vi blushed to see it. Beatrice, however, flushed so deeply that Vi had to laugh. Before she could do anything to assure Beatrice, Smith took her by the arm and dragged her from the room.

  “You don’t need your wedding rings,” Smith said. “Change into something flashier and cheaper.”

  Vi glanced at Rita, who stared at her and then slowly turned her gaze to Smith.

  “I’m not sure either of us have something cheap and flashy.”

  Smith scowled.

  “Does Beatrice?” Vi asked curiously.

  Smith didn’t reply, and instead waved them out the door after they handed Hargreaves their wedding rings. The butler stared at them with concern while they got into the nondescript auto that Smith drove.

  “What are we doing?” Vi asked.

  “Just providing a distraction,” Smith said. “Once I have my man, take my auto and go home. Don’t wait for me.”

  There was just enough actual firmness in his voice that Vi realized Jack was going to murder her if she survived. Smith stopped the auto near a secondhand store, and he led them in, digging through the racks before he found two quite jarring dresses. Vi and Rita changed in the back of the store and Smith nodded once, throwing money on the counter and then dragging them with him.

  “What’s the hurry?” Rita asked.

  “The bloke I’m looking for is a fellow too aware of his surroundings. He likes the ladies. He’ll turn his attention to you two, I’ll come in from behind, and when I have him—leave. Immediately.”

  “You would have used Beatrice for this?” Vi demanded.

  “She’s lovely, isn’t she?”

  “But—” Vi started, feeling quite protective.

  Smith looked at her, snorted, and then said, “She’s been in more trouble with you and your shenanigans than she’s ever been with me. She’ll be fine.”

  “Why are you so certain?” Rita demanded, trying to tuck herself more deeply into her dress. The front was so low-cut and Rita was so well-endowed, there was no way for her to fully cover herself.

  “I’ve taught her some things, haven’t I? I’ve armed her, haven’t I? The gent who owns the pub will keep an eye on you and out of harm’s way. Just don’t stay.”

  “He’s a friend of yours?” Vi asked, curiously. Her guess was that Smith didn’t really have friends. In fact, Vi suspected, that beyond their own group, Smith didn’t have anyone at all. She suspected that he’d never have become actual friends with them but for Beatrice.

  “He knows better than to cross me,” Smith said darkly. He backed the auto to a stop at the end of a narrow lane behind a pub and then walked with them through one of the nastiest alleys Vi had ever entered. She tiptoed daintily through the refuse, listening to Smith’s dark laugh. “Don’t leave through the front,” he warned. “There’s an exit behind the bar, take it without asking anything else. The auto is parked behind it.”

  Rita nodded, taking Vi’s hand.

  “There’s going to be a man in the back in a booth. He’ll be smoking; have a drink or several in front of him. Stumble in, be loud, giggle as if you’re drunk, and slowly make your way towards him.”

  Rita’s fingers dug a little more deeply.

  “All you need to do is keep his attention on you.”

  Smith nodded once, left them, and disappeared. Vi glanced at Rita and then reached out and opened the door of the pub. As she did, she let out a loud giggle that grated on her own ears.

  “Come on, luvie.” Vi laughed loudly, dragging Rita in with her. They wound their arms together and Rita’s laugh was stilted, but no one seemed to notice when there was all that creamy flesh showing.

  Vi pretended to stumble as she approached the bar and then jerked her eyes away from the bartender. Directly behind the man was the pretty Smith. He leaned low, disappearing behind the bar as Rita gaily called, “A French 75, my good man.”

  The bartender snorted. “I’ve got whiskey, gin, and beer.”

  Rita leaned back, gasping. “But I want a French 75.” Her voice was loud, grating, and whiny. They had the attention of every man in the bar on them. Rita laughed into her hand, wiping away a tear, and then she stumbled to the side, slipping into the booth of the fellow who Smith wanted distracted. “Don’t you like a French 75?”

  The man snorted, but his gaze was fixed on Rita’s chest until Vi slipped in beside her. Vi placed her chin on Rita’s shoulder and said, “I bet he likes them. They’re fizzy!” The word was high-pitched and both of them laughed until Smith’s hand darted out and he hauled the oversized bloke from the booth.

  The man must have rivaled Jack in sheer bulk, though he was more fat than muscle. Vi found that she screamed even when she knew Smith was going to do something. She just hadn’t expected the sheer violence of Smith’s move.

  The man actually did scream and then the sound cut off in the most horrible way. Vi hadn’t even seen what Smith had done, but she thought she might have nightmares about it regardless.

  “Oh my heavens!” Rita said.

  Smith shot them both a look and Vi squeaked again. She grabbed Rita’s hand and hauled her out of the booth. Neither of them had to pretend to be alarmed and horrified as they actually stumbled across the floor. Before they made it to the bar, a man grabbed Vi’s arm and squeezed hard. “What’s all this then?”

  Vi yelped and tried to tug away, and it didn’t work.

  “What did you two have to do with that?”

  Vi tried to twist her arm away and failed and then Rita drew a handgun and placed the muzzle directly against the man’s chest. “Let go of my friend.”

  The man shoved Vi into Rita, but Rita had been prepared for that, and she caught the weight of Vi against her. They rushed around the bar and out the back. When they reached wher
e Smith had parked the car, Rita shoved Vi into the passenger seat and dashed around to the other side.

  The big man who’d grabbed Vi seemed to have followed them because as Rita started the auto, he was there to block their escape. Rita cursed as the man smiled. A crowbar appeared from the sleeve of his jacket.

  “Who carries a crowbar?” Vi demanded.

  “Shoot him,” Rita suggested.

  “Jack will somehow know.”

  “Babe,” Rita laughed darkly. “Your arm is a bracelet of bruises.”

  Vi groaned as Rita moved the auto forward. The big man slammed the crowbar down, and there was a shatter of glass.

  “Head light?” Vi asked.

  “Probably,” Rita agreed and then gunned the engine.

  The man didn’t move.

  “He has a crowbar,” Vi reminded her as the man crashed it down again.

  “We have an auto,” Rita replied, throwing said auto into reverse so that the crowbar missed, and then she pulled back into drive and hit the throttle so that the auto jumped forward. The man tripped backwards as she braked just before she hit him. He began shouting obscenities, but Rita only laughed and hit the throttle once more.

  The man stumbled out of the way when she made no sign of slowing, but he got in one last hit. Both Rita and Vi yelped when the crowbar smashed down on the window. Rita didn’t stop, and the moment the man was behind them, she peeled away.

  “Oh my heavens,” Vi said and then found she was hysterically laughing. “We’re going to be slowly murdered by our husbands.”

  Chapter 3

  Before Jack got home, Violet dressed carefully for dinner. She dug through her dresses, cursing every one that didn’t have sleeves. Why, why did she insist on buying dresses with slim straps and sleeveless ensembles that ended at her shoulder?

  She was nearly frantic until she remembered those particularly long, black gloves she’d bought. Vi pulled the glove up carefully and sighed in relief when it covered the ring of bruises. She was going to murder Smith slowly and then slap herself a little bit for being stupid enough to get involved in Smith’s plans.

  She stood in the center of her dressing closet, wearing only stockings, a slip, and evening gloves when Jack came into the bedroom and called, “Vi, darling, I’m home. I’m sorry I’m late.”

  She choked back a gasp and then steadied herself. “Hello darling.”

  Vi grabbed the first dress with black in it and threw it over her head until she realized it was that spiderweb dress she’d purchased. With a silent groan, Vi pulled it off and then threw it in the corner of her closet, ignoring her need for order. She flipped through several other dresses more carefully and found a simple black sleeveless sheath. She pulled it on and then, knowing Jack would immediately question a dress so plain, Vi found her pretty gray and black lace wrap. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply as she left her dressing room and found Jack shaving in the bath.

  “How was your day?” Vi managed to squeak out. Was her voice cracking? Could he tell? Would she be able to hide the bruise until it faded? Vi wasn’t sure, because her skin was rather pale and creamy and the bruise was so dark purple.

  His gaze moved to hers, and she angled her body away from him. She felt like a wooden puppet and the thought occurred to her that she should just explain. She didn’t want to see his eyes darken in anger, however, or his jaw tick with fury, so she said nothing.

  “Boring mostly,” Jack said. “The woman missed her appointment, but we found her later, and she said she was confused.”

  If the woman was confused, maybe the solution to this whole case was the crossroads of confusion and imagination. “What is she hiring you to discover?”

  Jack’s eyes moved over her face as he lifted a towel and patted his face dry. That gaze of his was too-penetrating, and she wanted to wince away. Instead, she turned to her jewelry box and started digging through, almost mindlessly. Her gaze was fixed on her arm in the mirror rather than on her jewelry and she pulled out the strand of pink pearls. Vi looked at it for long moments and then decided that putting it back would be more noteworthy than wearing it.

  “Are you all right, Vi? You seem distracted.”

  “Just thinking book thoughts,” she lied and then blushed deeply, but Jack’s face was in the closet as he pulled out his suit for the evening.

  “What did you do today?”

  Vi was blushing again, but thankfully Jack was hurrying into his suit. “Wrote some. Spent some time with Rita. Petered about.”

  Jack was busy with his tie, so Violet returned to her own dressing room to find a clutch just to avoid Jack’s eyes. He knew her so well—too well—for her to be able to sidestep his question if he were actually focused on her instead of rushing through dressing for their dinner plans.

  “I was thinking—” She had no idea what she was going to say, so she said, “about Spain for Christmas.”

  Jack turned and lifted his brows, and there was something in his face that told her the idea had slivered into his imagination and that he wanted to go.

  “We should definitely go.” Jack grinned widely, and she added, “We should revisit our honeymoon location while we’re there.”

  Jack paused and then leaned in and placed a kiss on the top of her head. “I should like that, though I think we’ll have to rid ourselves of the rest of our family and save that part of the trip for just us.”

  Vi felt as though he’d stabbed her through the heart with a dagger made of guilt. She wrapped her arms around his waist. She turned her face away before leaning into him so her face powder wouldn’t smudge his suit.

  “I would like that.”

  Jack pulled back, and his gaze moved over her face with so much love that she winced with the guilt of it. “Are you all right?”

  “No,” Vi said against his chest. When he stiffened against her, she added, “Yes. I’m fine. All is well. It’s fully all right.”

  “That felt very conflicted,” Jack said gently. He put his finger under her chin and turned her face to his. “Are you all right?” he repeated.

  The question was slow and precise and Vi deliberately met his eyes as she nodded. “I really am fine.”

  “Then why—” There was a knock on their door and Jack called, “Yes?”

  “The car is ready, sir,” Hargreaves said.

  “We’ll be right there.”

  Jack didn’t move an inch, however. He was as steady as a mountain as he looked at Vi.

  “I really am fine,” Vi told him, firmly. “All is well. I have something to tell you that is not of immediate import, but I suppose I know that you’ll be upset.”

  “So you aren’t going to tell me?” Jack didn’t sound in the least pleased, and Vi didn’t blame him.

  “No, I’ll explain fully,” Vi swore. “Just after—”

  She tried trailing off, but he waited. He wanted a full explanation, so she said, “Jack, we’re going out with friends, and I know you’ll be upset, and I don’t really want to argue before we go.”

  “Why would we argue?”

  Vi groaned and gave in. “Smith needed Beatrice for one of his cases today. She couldn’t go, so Rita and I went. In the process, a man grabbed my arm. I’m fine but the bruise is dark.”

  Jack went from tense to statue-like, and Vi groaned again.

  “Smith put you in danger?”

  “No,” Vi countered. “I did. It’s not like he could force me to wear some ugly dress and walk into a pub to distract his quarry if I didn’t want to.”

  “Ugly?”

  Vi grinned wickedly, unable to hold back a laugh. “Not the least bit fashionable.”

  Jack paused. “Ham isn’t as used to your hijinks as I.”

  “Oh yes,” Violet countered with a laugh, “you’re the king of tolerant husbands whereas poor Hamilton Barnes is nothing but a man run ragged.”

  “He will be.” Jack shook his head. “I wonder if Rita will confess.”

  “Confess?” Vi snapped. “Co
nfess! For what?”

  Jack placed a kiss on her head. “I’d rather you just tell me.”

  “Don’t play games with me, sir. The moment you are done pretending to be the most tolerant and modern of husbands, you’re going to be stewing over what could have happened and then you’re going to consider violence to poor Smith.”

  Jack’s gaze narrowed. He was fighting back his reaction to growl or punch or stomp or something else equally manly, so Vi pushed up on her toes and kissed his jawline. His hands roved down her arms, and she wasn’t dim enough to think he was doing anything other than looking for a wince. She steeled herself without flexing a muscle, and when his fingers moved gently over her bruise, she didn’t give him the slightest of reactions.

  “Jack, darling,” she said easily when their fingers were wound around each other’s, “I should like to dance and to have a drink and to enjoy the evening without worrying that you’re upset. Things went a little sideways when Smith didn’t think they would. He would never have brought Beatrice to that place alone if he expected her to face a real threat.”

  “I’m still going to, at the least, cut his car tires.”

  Vi considered telling him that poor Smith’s auto had already been ravaged, but she imagined that the remarkably reasonable reaction was subject to falling to pieces should he realize the rest and Vi wasn’t sure she’d feel so bad for Smith if his car tires were cut.

  “You’re in trouble,” Denny told Vi as he giggled and then handed her a French 75. “It’s the cocktail of the evening.”

  Rita raised her glass to Vi as Jack seated her.

  “They’re fizzy,” Lila said, with a slow grin. “Or, so I understand.”

  “Mmm,” Vi said, shooting her gaze to Jack and then realizing that everyone else had their gazes focused on her arms, her extra-long gloves, and the wrap.

  “Have you heard?” Ham asked with the look of a man who wanted to murder Vi and Rita. His expression was dark, but Rita simply lifted her glass again and winked.

  “We were fine,” Rita told Ham. “No need to retroactively worry when here we are, perfectly fine.”