The Plot Is Murder

by V. M. Burns

  “Honey, everyone who got to know him. Clay was a lying, deceitful person. He sold the real estate firm the day after his father died. He and George had a big blow up about it.”

  “George?” My brain couldn’t wrap itself around meek, boring George Parker arguing with anyone.

  “Yeah. Clay had the nerve to blame him for the business going into the toilet, but I don’t believe it. George wouldn’t hurt a fly. Clay, on the other hand . . .” She smacked her hand on the table and demonstrated just what Clayton would do to a fly. Her movement was so sudden and unexpected I jumped.

  * * *

  Later, I lay in bed and thought about all that Diana Parker had said. I already knew Parker & Parker Real Estate was in financial difficulty. Ruby Mae told us that early on. We knew from Freddie’s son that Clayton Parker had been involved in real estate schemes and was under investigation. Selling the company the day after his father’s death was pretty cold-blooded. His father and his uncle George started the company. How could he have sold it without his uncle’s approval?

  Information tumbled in my head like a tennis shoe in a dryer. Parker & Parker was in financial trouble. Clayton Parker sold the real estate business. Diana Parker’s prenuptial agreement prevented her from leaving her cheating husband and running off with Hunky Hans Ritter. Clayton argued with Uncle David. Uncle David, the ex-con had been in my living room. Why?

  Clayton’s money problems started six months ago. What happened six months ago? Robert Parker died. Clayton inherited his father’s share of the business. Clayton sold the business. Uncle David was released from prison. Clayton argued with Uncle George. Uncle George was a whale. What was it Diana Parker had said? Clayton Parker’s gambling problems started six months ago. David Parker arrived six months ago. Clayton had been fine with selling me the building until six months ago.

  Suddenly, my eyes were open. I reached for the phone by my bed and dialed before I stopped to think.

  “Hello?”

  The groggy voice was my first indication I should have checked the clock before I dialed, but it was too late to hang up.

  “Diana, this is Sam, ah . . . Samantha Washington. I’m so sorry to bother you. But I have a question.”

  “What time is it?”

  I looked at the clock. “Uh . . . it’s one thirty-seven. I’m so sorry. Since you’re up, I wondered, how did Robert Parker die?”

  The delay was so long I was afraid she’d fallen back asleep. I was just about to check when she mumbled, “He had a stroke.”

  That wasn’t what I expected. “Oh . . . Really. Are you sure?”

  The click was soft, but the dial tone that followed was pretty loud. I hung up. There went that theory. Robert Parker died from a stroke. I’d thought for sure Robert was murdered. Clayton Parker was murdered. David Parker was either murdered or committed suicide, or his murder was made to look like suicide. If David killed Clayton and then killed himself, why was Detective Pitt still questioning Diana?

  There was no point in trying to go back to sleep. My brain was up. I might as well get up too.

  I grabbed my laptop and turned it on. The glow from the screen was enough for typing. I didn’t bother turning on a lamp. Writing might help me organize my thoughts.

  Penelope knocked on Daphne’s door.

  “Come in.”

  She entered. Daphne sat on the window seat and leafed through a fashion magazine.

  “Thompkins said you wanted to see me,” Penelope said.

  “Well, sit down.”

  Penelope perched on the edge of the bed and clasped her hands in front of her.

  “You should know that I talked to Victor.”

  Penelope’s cheeks burned. She promptly stood and began to pace, avoiding eye contact with her sister. “Oh . . .”

  “Yes. I wanted you to know that I broke it off.”

  Penelope stopped. If Daphne had been looking, she would have seen her sister stood trembling in the middle of the room. She made her way back to the bed and sat. “Why?” Her voice cracked.

  Daphne flipped through her magazine. “It’s rather obvious, isn’t it?”

  Penelope leaned forward, on the verge of speaking, but no words came out.

  “I don’t love him. I never have,” Daphne continued.

  Penelope sat up straight. “You don’t love—”

  Daphne flung her magazine to the floor and jumped up. “Of course I don’t love him. I never have.” She looked her sister hard in the face. “Is it true?”

  “Is what true?”

  “Is it true what James said? That the police don’t believe I had anything to do with the murder?”

  Realization dawned on Penelope. Her lips twitched. “Yes. It’s true.”

  Relief spread across Daphne’s face and her eyes sparkled.

  “Well, then, that’s great. Everything is working out perfectly.” Daphne picked up her magazine. “Now Victor’s free, I suppose you’ll be announcing your engagement soon.”

  Penelope stopped and stared. “You knew?”

  Daphne laughed. “Of course. I’ve always known. You’ve been in love with him ever since we were children. For some reason, Victor believed himself to be in love with me.”

  Penelope narrowed her eyes. “But why did you? What about the engagement?”

  Daphne flipped her hair. “Oh, that. I knew Victor and I weren’t right for each other, but I needed him to see it. Sometimes, the worst thing that can happen is getting the thing you’ve always wanted. At least, that’s what Aunt Elizabeth says. I guess she was right.”

  Penelope ran over and gave her sister a hug. “Plus, now you’re free in case James decides he needs a duchess. . . .”

  Color rose into Daphne’s cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Penelope found Victor walking in the garden behind his home. She ran and flung herself into his arms. “I just heard the good news.”

  Victor held her. “I’m torn between feeling elated and feeling like a bit of a heel.” He gently pushed her away.

  “Why a heel?”

  “Well, I promised I’d look after her. I can’t help feeling I’ve abandoned my post.”

  Penelope turned away before Victor could see how his words had hurt her. “Well, you can just go back to your post then.” She marched away.

  Victor hurried to catch her. He grabbed her arm and spun her to face him. “Penny dearest, can you ever forgive me?”

  Tears fell from her eyes. Penelope looked into his eyes and her doubts, insecurities, and fears melted away in the love and warmth that enveloped her. She laughed and cried and snuggled closely into his strong chest. Victor’s arms enclosed around her.

  A discrete cough and the smell of a cigarette brought Penelope back to the present.

  “Looks like congratulations are in order,” James said.

  Penelope dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

  “I suppose this means the beautiful Lady Daphne is . . .”

  Victor’s brow creased and Penelope intervened, “Free and unencumbered.”

  “Ah . . . very good. Very good indeed.” James tried to look stern, but Penelope was sure he hid a smile.

  Victor walked over to his friend and patted him on the back. “Yes. Lady Daphne has tossed me aside in favor of someone more suitable.”

  The men shook hands.

  James cleared his throat. “I have come out here with a purpose. Lady Elizabeth has asked me to fetch you both.”

  “Absolutely not.” Victor was adamant.

  “Obviously you’re ashamed to announce your engagement to me.” Penelope shot the words out like daggers.

  Lady Elizabeth watched her niece work up a steam pacing around the room. Lord William sat with his leg elevated on an ottoman. Daphne and James hovered in the corner.

  Victor set his chin and stood his ground. “That’s not true and you know it. Be reasonable, Penny.”

  His determination gave his boyish good looks a manly charm.


  “Personally, I think it’s a wonderful idea, and about time too.” Daphne’s enthusiasm turned to impishness. “What do you think, James?”

  “James, please help me. Surely you understand,” Victor pleaded.

  James lit a cigarette and winked at Daphne. “Actually, old boy, I have to disagree. I think an engagement party to announce your impending nuptials to the beautiful Lady Penelope Marsh would be a grand thing indeed.”

  Victor gaped in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Of course I’m serious. Why not?”

  “Why not? After you’ve just told me Scotland Yard believes I killed Charles Parker? What if I’m arrested? Do you know what that will do to Penelope’s reputation?”

  “Is that your only reluctance? You’re worried about my reputation?” Penelope asked breathlessly.

  “Of course. What else?” Victor barely got the words out before Penelope flung herself into his arms. Caught off balance, he steadied himself.

  Penelope hung on for dear life and nestled into his chest like a kitten. “You silly, wonderful man.”

  Victor pulled himself away. “I don’t think you understand what this could mean. A trial would be in all the papers. It would be . . . scandalous. I can’t . . . I won’t do anything that would bring that type of attention to your name.”

  Victor’s gallantry met with laughter. First it was Penelope, and then Daphne, Lady Elizabeth, and even James joined in.

  Victor stood up very straight and tried to salvage his pride. “I don’t understand what’s so blasted funny.”

  Only Lord William didn’t join in the laughter. Instead, he leaned on his cane, pulled himself upright, and limped over to Victor.

  “I understand.” He patted Victor on the shoulder. “Anyone who has that much concern for my niece and her reputation is exactly the type of man I’ll be glad to welcome into the family.” He offered his hand to Victor.

  The men shook hands.

  Penelope dabbed at her tears. “Thank you, Uncle.” She kissed him on the cheek.

  “But, don’t you think it would better to wait until this murder investigation is settled?” Victor tried a final plea.

  “Actually, I think unless we move forward with our plans, this whole thing may never get settled,” Lord William said. “I think you better trust us.”

  Victor looked from Lord William to each of the other Marshes. Each one nodded in turn.

  Finally, he turned to James, who said, “I think you better trust us.”

  Victor looked at Penelope. “Okay. What’s the plan?”

  Chapter 23

  One of the stairs squeaked. I’d meant to have Andrew repair it, but there was so much to do with getting the bookstore and Dawson’s studio ready, I’d forgotten.

  After being here for months, I had just about blocked it out, but in the wee hours of the morning, that squeak sounded like a siren. Oreo and Snickers were with Dawson. I strained to listen but heard nothing. It must be Nana Jo coming back from her date. She was probably trying not to wake me. I was already awake, so maybe we could have a quick chat. I wanted to tell her about my conversation with Diana Parker. I got up, opened my bedroom door, and turned on the light.

  “Nana Jo, I—”

  Standing in the middle of the floor wasn’t Nana Jo, but a man. I knew who he was before he turned around.

  “This is unfortunate.” George Parker pointed the largest gun I’d ever seen at me.

  Unfortunate? That had to be the understatement of the century.

  My mouth went dry and my tongue felt like it had expanded to twice its normal size. I couldn’t take my eyes off the gun. My heart was beating so fast and so loud I barely heard what he said.

  “What . . . what are you . . . Why are you here?” I asked.

  “I’ve come to get what belongs to me.” His eyes glanced at the ceiling.

  I could barely tear my eyes away from the gun, but I managed to glance up. In the corner of the ceiling was a plaster gargoyle. There were gargoyles in each corner of the ceiling.

  “So that’s what you want? The gargoyles? Take them.”

  George sneered. “I intend to.”

  I kept my eyes focused on George and the gun. He had already killed his brother and his nephew. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill me. I felt dizzy and lightheaded. I tried to think what to do, but my brain felt like I was walking through mashed potatoes. I thought I saw something from the corner of my eye, but I couldn’t stop staring at the gun.

  “Where’s your ladder?”

  I tried to get my brain to focus on something other than that gun. Ladder . . . ladder. I had one somewhere.

  “Where is the ladder?” He spoke loudly and waved the gun.

  “Basement. I only have a stepladder up here. The only ladder that will reach that high is in the basement.”

  George appeared to be thinking. I could almost see the wheels turning in his brain. He couldn’t leave me upstairs alone while he went down to get the ladder. Nor would he send me down for the ladder while he stayed upstairs. He could tie me up, but if he brought rope or zip ties, I didn’t see them. They might be in his pocket, but I suspected he thought the house was empty. I hoped he didn’t decide to shoot me first and then get the ladder.

  He stepped toward me. My heart raced.

  His back was to the stairs. That’s when I saw Nana Jo’s head. She was on the stairs. That knowledge allowed me to breath. Nana Jo would get help. I wasn’t alone. I blinked back tears.

  George stepped behind me and pushed the gun into my back. “Walk, and don’t get any ideas.” He shoved me forward.

  I walked.

  Downstairs the lights were out. I halted to give my eyes a chance to adjust to the darkness. When I stopped, George shoved the gun into my back harder. If I survived the night, I would have a muzzle-shaped bruise. I tried to not think of anything else other than that bruise. But I couldn’t help picturing a bullet-sized hole to go along with it. All things considered, I’d take the bruise any day.

  “Basement,” George pushed forward with the gun.

  “We have to go outside to access the storm cellar.” My throat was dry, and my voice cracked. “I need to get the key from my office.”

  “Don’t get any ideas or I’ll shoot you.”

  I nodded. We slowly walked to my office. Where was Nana Jo? My eyes darted around but, for the life of me, I couldn’t see her. I hoped she’d gone for help. I noticed the light blinking on the security system as I walked down the hall. The police would be here soon. With George’s gun still in my back, I opened the office door and took a few steps into the room.

  I sensed rather than saw the movement. Nana Jo stepped out from the shadows of the office. She had her gun pointed at George Parker.

  “Drop your gun.” Her voice was as deadly as her expression. I’d never seen my grandmother’s eyes so hard.

  “No. You drop your gun.” George dug the muzzle of his gun into my back, and I gasped. “Unless you want to see your granddaughter’s blood splattered all over this room, I suggest you put down your weapon and take a step back.”

  Nana Jo simply looked down the barrel of her gun at George Parker. I thought for sure she’d squeeze the trigger. I closed my eyes and waited. When I heard a thunk, I opened my eyes. Nana Jo’s gun lay on the desk. She glared at George like a mama bear about to rip the throat out of someone messing with her cub.

  George chuckled. “Good decision.”

  Nana Jo spat on the ground and continued her stare down. “You all right?”

  Still unable to talk, I nodded.

  Nana Jo never took her eyes off of George Parker, but she must have seen me. “Good. It’s going to be okay.”

  I grabbed the basement key and George Parker motioned for us to leave the room. Nana Jo went first and then me. George and his gun followed us outside. We headed around the back of the building to the cellar door. The large metal doors to the basement angled and formed a triangle between the building and the ground. I unlo
cked the padlock and slid back the bolt. Concrete stairs led to the cellar. I hated dark basements, and this one was dark and damp and smelled of mold and earth. When I was considering purchasing the building, I had refused to go downstairs. Thankfully, my realtor, Chris Martinelli, had gone down and verified it was clean and empty of vermin. Only then did I descend. Now, here I was being forced at gunpoint. Nana Jo headed down first, then me with George following close behind. My fear of the gun at my back overcame my hatred of basements, and I followed Nana Jo down the stairs.

  Nana Jo flipped on the light switch at the bottom of the stairs.

  “What are you doing? Turn that out,” George growled.

  Nana Jo complied. “Okay, but I don’t know how you’re going to find anything with no light.”

  She was right. Without the light, the basement was pitch black.

  George relented. “Okay, turn the light on. And get the ladder.”

  Nana Jo flipped the light switch. I spotted the ladder against the back wall and pointed.

  “Get it,” he said.

  I crept toward the ladder, keeping an eye out for vermin and other creepy-crawlies. When I reached the back wall, I grabbed it and turned. Just as I turned, I saw a dark shape descend the stairs. George Parker must have heard or sensed movement because he turned around. As he began to turn, a shadow leaped down the last few steps and drop-kicked him. He fell onto his back. As it landed, I heard a loud shout of “Tawanda.”

  From the stairs, Dorothy stood over George Parker. She had on a dress and pumps that made her look like an Amazon. She hiked up her dress and planted her feet wide and crouched low to the ground. George scrambled to his feet and charged toward Dorothy. As he lunged forward, she reached across and grabbed his arm that held the gun. Then she turned quickly, twisted his arm, and leaned her shoulder into his body. In two swift moves, she bent back his wrist and the gun fell out of his grip.

  Nana Jo dived and grabbed the gun, while Dorothy used George’s momentum to flip him over her shoulder. He came down with a thud and a series of screams and curses. Once George was on the floor, Dorothy placed her knee on his chest and held him down. Nana Jo stood over him with the gun pointed at his head. Down the stairs came a barefoot Irma with a red pump with a six-inch hooker-heel in her hand, which she promptly applied to the prostrate Parker with vehemence.