by V. M. Burns
She responded to him, and what started as an ember quickly grew into white hot passion. Hungrily she clung to him as if she were drowning and clinging to a life raft.
Victor finally broke the embrace. He looked into Penelope’s eyes. “What a fine mess this is.”
Penelope clung to him and murmured, “What do you mean?”
“My whole life, all I wanted was Daphne. Now that I’m engaged to her, I realize I’m in love with her sister.”
“You’re in love with me?” Penelope snuggled closer.
Victor pulled away and looked into her eyes. “Yes. I love you.” He kissed her again.
When he was finished, Penelope smiled at him. “Well, it’s about time.”
Chapter 19
I spent the next few days taking care of the store and tutoring Dawson. The boys were a godsend and I had just about mastered the POS system. My comfortable routine left me so tired at night I didn’t have time to think about Clayton or David Parker—well, not much time. I tried to block the entire Parker family and all of their problems out of my mind, but David’s death nagged at me.
Nana Jo scoured the local newspaper for David Parker’s obituary and the announcement of the funeral service but found nothing more than a brief death notice.
The girls missed playing detective, so they started a mystery book club. The Sleuthing Seniors planned to meet once a month in the back of the bookstore. Irma campaigned to name the group the Sleuthing Madams and get T-shirts made that read S&M, but wiser heads prevailed. Their first meeting was spent eating the brownies provided by Dawson and arguing over what book to read first. Dorothy wanted a suspenseful, dark book with lots of gore. Irma wanted a mystery with plenty of sex, while Ruby Mae and Nana Jo were open to anything. I suggested they start with a cozy mystery, and they settled on Dorothy Gilman’s The Unexpected Mrs. Pollifax. The Mrs. Pollifax series was one of my favorites, although I questioned the wisdom of exposing the girls to a senior citizen who becomes a CIA spy. I was anxious to hear their thoughts after reading the book and hoped they didn’t find Emily Pollifax too inspiring.
With the book question resolved, they went back to chatting and eating brownies.
“Dorothy, have you heard from George?” Nana Jo asked.
Dorothy swallowed and took a swig of coffee to wash the brownie down. “I haven’t seen him.”
Ruby Mae, as usual, had her knitting. She worked a few stitches and muttered to herself, “I expected there’d be something in the paper ’bout the funeral, but I ain’t seen nothing.”
“I was sort of looking forward to another funeral service. There were some really hot men at the last one,” Irma said.
“Maybe you could call George and ask about the funeral service,” Nana Jo addressed Dorothy. “David was his brother. He might be in need of consoling.”
Dorothy didn’t seem to be in a mood for Nana Jo’s jokes. “I don’t care how much consoling he needs. That man is a bore. Besides, I thought the case was over.”
I stared at my brownie. No one spoke.
Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. “I don’t know if the case is over or not. Something doesn’t feel right.”
“What’s wrong? The police must have had a reason to believe David Parker killed his nephew or they wouldn’t have arrested him,” Nana Jo said.
Nana Jo made sense, but I couldn’t shake my qualms. “I don’t know. The police get things wrong. They could be wrong about David Parker. I mean, they almost arrested me.”
“But they didn’t arrest you. Stinky Pitt is a jack—”
“Irma,” we all yelled. She stopped, although the coughing fit that followed probably would have prevented her from swearing anyway.
“I can’t explain it. It just doesn’t feel right,” I said.
Dorothy got up and left the room.
Ruby Mae put away her knitting and patted me on the knee. “Honey, we’ve all lived long enough to know you have to trust your gut.”
I was touched by their faith in me. Nana Jo handed me a handkerchief, and I wiped my eyes and blew my nose.
Dorothy came back. “Okay. I’m meeting George at the casino for dinner at eight. We better go home so I can freshen up.” The girls collected their things. Ruby Mae asked if I’d drive or if they should take the shuttle. Driving was the least I could do.
* * *
George said the family decided not to have a public funeral service for David. He’d been away in prison so long he didn’t have friends in the area. His past was so shady the few people who still remembered him didn’t do so fondly. Diana hadn’t met David prior to his release from prison and was anxious to start a new life as quickly as she could—a new life that didn’t include any Parkers. As soon as the coroner released the body, George would have David cremated.
Ruby Mae’s great-niece was a blackjack dealer in the high limit room. According to her, George Parker’s whale status was in jeopardy before Clayton’s death. He’d been on a losing streak, normally a good thing for the casino. However, they’d extended him a large amount of credit, and he was struggling to pay it off. I wasn’t sure what George Parker’s gambling debts had to do with the murder, but I filed the information away.
Irma cozied up to a blue-suited banker at the bar. Plied with enough alcohol, he revealed Parker & Parker Real Estate was in financial difficulty. His ethical compass didn’t allow him to spill why, but he’d given us a place to start digging. Ruby Mae promised to pump her goddaughter, a teller at the same bank, for information.
Nana Jo arranged to meet her boyfriend, Freddie, at the casino. Freddie’s son, Mark, the state trooper, confirmed Clayton Parker was involved in suspicious real estate transactions. Someone had filed a complaint accusing Parker of fraud.
I managed to ferret out some information. A former employee of Parker & Parker Real Estate sat at the slot machine next to mine. Maggie Johnson was once secretary to Robert Parker, the founder of the company. I’d met Maggie during the ordeal when I was trying to purchase my building. To say Maggie didn’t care for Clayton Parker would be the understatement of the century. She loathed and detested her former boss’s son. According to Maggie, it wasn’t just that he was a spoiled, selfish, self-centered prick. Oh, no, his sins were numerous. Clayton Parker was a shady, deceitful, dishonest swindler who skirted the law. Maggie had volunteered to testify against Clayton Parker in two impending lawsuits.
“The thing that really bites my butt,” Maggie said, not missing a beat with the one-armed bandit, “is now that Mr. Robert is dead, whatever comes out may blacken his good name too.”
If Maggie was to be believed, Robert Parker was a saint, the only honest one of the whole bunch. She was probably in love with him, but that didn’t concern me.
“What specifically did Clayton Parker do?”
Maggie pushed her replay button, leaned close to me, and whispered, “He lied.”
Not the great reveal I’d hoped for. My disappointment must have shown.
Maggie quickly continued, “He lied and cheated his clients. He charged 7 percent commission to his clients when the going rate is six. He worked little fees into contracts, administrative processing, document reading, and a host of other charges that could amount to tens of thousands of dollars. When he got an offer on a property, he told the buyer’s lawyer he had other offers when he didn’t but he really liked these buyers, and if they came up with an extra thousand dollars, he’d talk his seller into accepting their offer.”
“The dirty rat.” That was exactly what Clayton Parker had done to me, and it made my blood boil.
Maggie hit a bonus round, and I let her concentrate on the slot machine. The bonus played out, and she smacked the replay button.
“How was he able to get away with this?” I asked.
Maggie played on, losing her bonus winnings. Finally, she answered, “He threatened and intimidated people. The Parker name still carries weight in this town. He knew the right people. He played golf with bankers and lawyers. He sa
iled with politicians and businessmen. One bad word from him and suddenly you’re unemployed, living on social security, and coming to the casino in the hopes of free gifts and a payout that will pay your medical bills.”
A tear ran down her cheek. Her machine was silent. Her hand rested on the replay button, and I reached over and gave it a squeeze. Maggie sniffed. I found a packet of tissues in my purse, and both of us made use of them. The mood was broken by a scantily clad waitress with a drink tray. Maggie requested a beer. I offered to pay, but she had her pride and handed a few dollars to the server.
After a swig, she turned to me. “I may be down, but I’m not out. I will dance on that prick’s grave as soon as they get the marker in place.”
“I just might join you.”
I knew Clayton Parker was dishonest. My dealings with him proved he was a dirty scumbag. I didn’t want to think about any extra money he cost me in fictitious fees. Our dealings were so bad I’d hired my own attorney. Ultimately, I’d closed on the building. Given what I’d learned, I easily believed there were complaints against him. I wondered how he stayed in business as long as he did, but none of it explained why David killed him. David had been in prison, but it was suspicious that Clayton Parker died not long after his uncle was released and was overheard threatening his nephew.
Another late night at the casino left my clothes smelling of smoke and my pockets fifty dollars richer. After a shower, I drifted off to sleep with Maggie’s words swimming in my head. Clayton Parker lied and cheated his clients. Robert Parker was the only honest one of the bunch.
Chapter 20
James pulled his 1938 Rolls-Royce convertible onto Victoria Embankment, parked in front of New Scotland Yard, and decided it was safe to leave the roof down. Within fifteen minutes, he sat in the office of Chief Inspector Albert Buddington.
“James, it’s good to see you. I was very sorry to hear about your uncle’s death. The duke was a good man.” Everything about Budgy, for that was what James had called him since he was a small boy, was large. A large mustache, a large nose, and large ears graced a larger than average-sized head, and the man was large both horizontally and vertically.
“Thank you, sir.” James tried not to fidget. The size of the guest chair was out of proportion to the rest of the room’s large furniture. He felt like a small boy summoned to the headmaster’s office.
“Now, how can I help you?” Budgy’s voice was as large as the rest of him.
James leaned forward. “Well, sir, one of my mates is . . .” He cleared his throat. “He’s involved in the murder of that American fellow, Charles Parker.”
The chief inspector scowled and leaned back. “Bad business that. You must be careful whom you hang around with, now that you’re a duke.”
“I quite agree, but Victor’s okay. He didn’t kill the man. Comes from a good family and all. There is a lady, and Victor is protecting her.”
The chief inspector nodded approvingly. “Yes. Chivalry and all that.”
“Exactly.” James was relieved at the chief inspector’s easy acceptance of his explanation. “I don’t know that your detective shares our feelings on chivalry.”
Chief Inspector Buddington’s grin exposed his big teeth. “Giving your mate a hard time, is he? Let me see what I can find out.” He pushed a button on his desk. A crackly voice answered. He requested the file on the Charles Parker murder investigation and tea.
The tea arrived, followed shortly by a man with a case file in hand. Tall, lean, and gangly with thick curly hair, he stood awkwardly waiting for an invitation to sit or join with tea. He was not invited to do either.
James set his cup down, stood, extended his hand, and introduced himself.
The chief inspector was forced to acknowledge Detective Covington’s presence. “Yes. Covington. Now that all of the introductions are over, let’s get down to business. What have you got on the murder of that American Charles Parker?”
Detective Covington shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“Well?” The chief inspector glared.
“Sir. Yes. Was there anything particular you wanted to know about the case? I have the file here, with all of my notes. Sir.”
“If I wanted to read the case file, I would have had you bring it and leave. I want to know if you have a suspect. You might as well sit and stop twitching.”
If Detective Covington looked uncomfortable standing, he was even more so sitting. He balanced on the edge of his chair and clutched the file. “We have questioned several members of the Marsh family.” He spoke too fast.
“Marsh? That wouldn’t be Lord William Marsh, would it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, you can forget about him. Lord William Marsh is a member of the House of Lords—belongs to my club. He wouldn’t have anything to do with murder.”
“Sir, I’m just doing my job.” Covington tapped his foot.
“Yes. Yes. I understand there was a lady involved.”
“Lady Daphne Marsh, Lord William’s niece, but I’ve eliminated her as a suspect.”
James started at the news that Daphne was no longer a suspect. “Really? I was given to understand you were quite suspicious of Lady Daphne Marsh.”
Covington visibly relaxed. “Now I understand. You can rest easy. I do not believe that Lady Daphne Marsh is a killer.”
James’s ears warmed at Covington’s implication that his interest in Lady Daphne was more than casual friendship. Daphne was a beautiful woman, but he wasn’t interested in finding a wife. His reaction to Covington’s words angered him. “May I inquire why?”
“The coroner determined the nature of the wounds were such it would be extremely unlikely a woman delivered them. In fact, they appear to have been delivered by someone with military training.”
James’s heart raced, but his voice stayed steady. “Really? Modern medicine is amazing. How exactly were they able to determine that?”
“It’s actually very simple.” Detective Covington stood. “If you wouldn’t mind standing, I’ll be happy to demonstrate.”
James stood and faced the detective.
“If you’d just turn around, Your Grace.”
James turned his back to the detective. Covington put his arm around the duke’s neck. “We believe the killer came up behind the victim and grabbed him, like this.”
James stood still while the detective applied pressure to his neck.
“Once he immobilized his victim, he stabbed him.” Detective Covington raised his free arm above his head and brought it down several times in a stabbing motion. After several enthusiastic thrusts, he ended his demonstration.
James stumbled slightly, returning to his seat. “I see.”
“We have photos showing the angle of the stab wounds.” Detective Covington opened the file, pulled out the photos, and eagerly pointed out various wounds.
James became lightheaded and was unable to look at the gruesome photos. Detective Covington didn’t appear to notice.
“All right. All right. Enough of that,” Chief Inspector Buddington said. “What about that other fellow? Carlston. What do you have on him?”
“He served in the Royal Tank Corps, sir.” Covington put the photos away.
“Serving in His Majesty’s army doesn’t automatically make someone a killer.” James bristled. Things weren’t going the way he’d hoped. “I served.”
“I understand there was an American detective at the party.” Chief Inspector Buddington took out a handkerchief and wiped his hands.
“Claims he followed Parker to England to catch him.” Covington opened the file and shuffled through the papers. “Putting the squeeze on people.”
“Isn’t that unusual?” James asked.
“Usually police from visiting areas will identify themselves. It’s a matter of common courtesy to notify the local coppers before coming on someone else’s patch,” Detective Covington said.
“The American didn’t?” James grasped at stra
ws.
“Darned unsporting to put your foot in another man’s wagon.” Chief Inspector Buddington pursed his lips in distaste. “But, he is an American.”
Clearly allowances had to be made for Americans.
“Darned nice chap, actually. I’ve talked to him several times already,” Detective Covington said. “He had no motive to kill Parker. Others did.”
Lady Elizabeth walked into the servants’ hall with purpose and determination. Surprised maids and footmen scrambled to stop what they were doing and stand at attention but were unable to complete the maneuver without causing calamity.
Lady Elizabeth marched through the kitchen until she collided with Mrs. McDuffie. “So very sorry.”
Mrs. McDuffie juggled an armload of linens but managed to avoid dropping them. “Oh my, Lady Elizabeth. I’m so very sorry. I didn’t see you.” She put the linens on the large farm table and faced her mistress. “May I ’elp you?”
“I believe you can. Would it be possible for us to go in the office?” Lady Elizabeth motioned toward the room.
Once they were inside, Lady Elizabeth closed the door, indicated the housekeeper should be seated, and sat. “Mrs. McDuffie. When I was last here, I overheard you mention you saw a naked man the night of the party. Is that true?”
Mrs. McDuffie bristled. “Well, I’m certainly not in the ’abit of telling lies.”
“I know you’re a very truthful woman, and I truly did not mean any offense.” Lady Elizabeth touched Mrs. McDuffie’s hand.
The housekeeper relaxed. “Sure enough, that’s what I saw.”
“Wasn’t it dark?”
“Not so dark I couldn’t see a naked man in the moonlight. My dad always said strange things happened during the full moon.”
“I don’t suppose you saw who he was?” Lady Elizabeth was unaccustomed to, and uncomfortable with, discussing naked men with servants, but she soldiered on.
“No, m’lady.” Mrs. McDuffie folded her hands in her lap. Rather than being embarrassed, she appeared to have more to say.