Murder at Longbourn: A Mystery

by Tracy Kiely

  Joan and Henry sat woodenly together on the yellow couch. They neither spoke nor ate. Joan’s eyes were red and swollen behind her glasses, and Henry’s round face appeared to have aged ten years overnight. My good-morning greeting received only a muttered response and they both had trouble making eye contact with me.

  As they had last night, the actors huddled together, clearly more comfortable with one another than anyone else. Standing as one body by the fireplace, they whispered among themselves and warily eyed the rest of us. I couldn’t blame them, but it still made me feel rotten.

  The only one entering the room who didn’t seem affected was Daniel. He looked gorgeous. Wearing a blue wool sweater and faded jeans, he strode into the room and issued a general greeting that managed to convey a respectful acknowledgment of last night’s tragedy as well as a sense of unity. Unlike my earlier greeting, which had been essentially ignored, his was appreciated by everyone. Joan even smiled at him.

  After pouring himself a cup of coffee, Daniel crossed the room to where I was sitting on the window seat and squeezed in next to me. He was so close that I could smell his spicy aftershave.

  “Hello,” he said quietly. “How are you getting on?”

  “You mean aside from seeing a man murdered, apparently by someone who is a guest here, and being informed by the police that I am not allowed to leave town?”

  Daniel smiled. “Right, aside from all that.”

  “Oh, well, other than that,” I said with mock cheerfulness, “I’m doing just super, thanks. And yourself?”

  He matched my tone. “Never better. Never better. In fact,” his whisper was conspiratorial, “I’m having such a brilliant time that I’ve decided to extend my visit by a few days.”

  “Detective Stewart asked you to stay on, too, I take it.”

  “In a word, yes. Apparently, the police have taken it into their heads that Lauren and I are more than friends.”

  “Really?”

  “I see from your expression that you already heard that,” he continued matter-of-factly. “And I have little doubt where that tidbit of misinformation came from.” He took a sip of coffee. When he spoke again, the teasing tone was gone. Anger now laced his words. “Miss Tanner would do well to take care. One day she may find herself on the receiving end of a slander suit—or worse.”

  I agreed with him. Jackie wasn’t going to make many friends in town if she merrily continued to spread gossip about everyone. She’d managed to get Aunt Winnie unwanted scrutiny by the police and now she’d done the same for Daniel. I could well understand the anger behind his words.

  Daniel stared at the snapping fire for several moments. Finally, he shifted his attention back to me, a suggestive smile on his lips. “So, you are staying on as well,” he said. He glanced out the window at the trees bent and bowed under the weight of the snow. “Terrible snowstorm last night,” he continued, picking up the teasing tone again. “Better to stay in and keep warm.” His blue eyes locked on mine. “Any ideas on how we can stay warm? Indoors?”

  “Roast marshmallows?” I was trying to appear calm and composed. I knew that his sexual banter wasn’t serious—the man flirted as naturally as he breathed—but I could feel my face flush and I knew that my cheeks must be bright red. My upper lip began to twitch, another of my attractive manifestations of nervousness.

  Daniel shook his head. “Gave up sweets for the New Year. Any other ideas?”

  I knew that one of two things was going to happen. I was either going to fling myself into his arms, yelling something idiotic like, “Shag me!” or I was going to have a hideous breakout of nerve-induced hives. Either way, I was seconds away from making a complete ass of myself.

  For once the Fates smiled upon me and I was saved. Aunt Winnie entered the room and said loudly, “Everyone, if I could have your attention, please. Detective Stewart is here and he’s asked to speak with all of us for a moment.”

  Detective Stewart appeared in the doorway. He’d been up as late as I had, if not later. Yet there was no sign of exhaustion on his face. I took this as yet another sign that the man was inhuman. He threw his head back and straightened his shoulders. His hands were shoved deep into his thick overcoat’s pockets. His entire stance was suggestive of a man ready for a battle. The tension level in the room instantly jumped several notches.

  “Good morning,” he said in his raspy voice. Either the man smoked three packs of cigarettes a day or he had affected the voice for purposes of intimidation. There was simply no way that the terrible sounds emitting from his throat could have been God-given. He deliberately surveyed the room, pausing when he got to me. Almost imperceptibly, he inclined his head and nodded before turning back to the others.

  Henry unfolded his bulky frame from the couch and stood up. Raking a hand through his hair, he said in a voice shaking with indignation, “Look here. I want to know why my wife and I have to stay here. We’ve nothing to do with this … this … sordid business. Neither of us even knows anybody in this town. I have to leave. I have a very important meeting tomorrow with …”

  “Mrs. Kristell Dubois,” Daniel and I both muttered under our breath.

  “… Mrs. Kristell Dubois,” Henry intoned gravely. “If you do not know that good lady, let me tell you that she will be seriously displeased if I am not able to meet with her. She is an exceedingly busy woman and—”

  Detective Stewart raised one of his large hands and like a puppet Henry fell silent. Jamming his hands into the pockets of his charcoal-gray slacks, Henry stared sullenly at the ground and jangled his coins. Detective Stewart’s face stretched to accommodate a thin smile. “I know that you all want to leave,” he said. “However, in the interests of the case, I have to ask that you be patient. Those of you who are from out of town will have to stay on here a few more days. But those of you who are local”—he nodded to the acting troupe—“can return to their homes, with the understanding that you are not to leave town.” A gasp of relief escaped from the actors, followed by a frustrated one from the rest of us.

  Next to me, Daniel stood up, upsetting his coffee in the process. “I say!” he said, his handsome face pulled into a scowl. “That is simply not fair. Why do I have to remain here?” Buoyed by Daniel’s outburst, Henry joined him in angry protest. I remained silent. Even if Detective Stewart had told me that I could go, I wouldn’t have. Not now. I was going to stay with Aunt Winnie until the murderer was caught and I knew she was safe. Henry and Daniel badgered Detective Stewart about their rights, previous commitments, and whatever else they could throw at him. Their pleas had no effect on him; in fact, if anything, they seemed only to gratify him. What had begun as a thin smile of amusement now bordered on a full-out grin.

  While they continued to argue back and forth, I studied the actors. They were watching the proceedings with all the intensity of spectators at a Wimbledon finals. Across the room, Peter sat quietly, frowning at his cup of coffee. He had not argued with Detective Stewart’s decree either, and I suspected that he felt as I did. He would not leave until Aunt Winnie was out of danger.

  Detective Stewart raised his voice. “Enough! You can file a complaint if you like, but right now I am in charge of this case, and my decision stands. I can make this easy or hard. It’s entirely up to you.”

  Both Henry and Daniel fell silent. Detective Stewart contemplated them with undisguised scorn. The actors took advantage of the lull to make their escape, no doubt afraid Detective Stewart might change his mind. They rose as one body and sidled out the door, like some weird human crab.

  Detective Stewart and Aunt Winnie followed them out into the foyer. Detective Stewart told the actors that he would be in touch with them. He ensured that he had accurate phone numbers and addresses, while Aunt Winnie apologized for the inconvenience. The rest of us sat silently, lost in our own thoughts. To be honest, I had never really suspected any of the actors of the murder. But, with their exit, the range of possible suspects had been obviously and drastically narrowed. It m
ade for a very uncomfortable atmosphere.

  Perhaps because of this, Joan and Henry abruptly left the room. Daniel forgot his flirtation with me and departed as well. Only Peter and I remained.

  “Well, at least they’ll have a nice, freshly shoveled driveway to peel out of when they leave.”

  Peter’s head jerked up at the sound of my voice, but he didn’t respond. I don’t think he’d heard me at all. He stood up, placed his coffee cup on the low table in front of him, and walked out of the room.

  I felt like the girl in the commercial who is unwittingly driving everyone away with her terrible breath. I surveyed the empty room, littered with breakfast dishes and coffee cups. “That’s okay,” I yelled at Peter’s retreating form. “I’ll get all this.”

  My sarcasm was met with silence.

  When I got back to my room, my cell phone was ringing. It was Bridget.

  “Elizabeth!” she yelled happily when I answered and I knew why she was calling. Colin had proposed. I didn’t want to burst her bubble by beating her to her own announcement, or worse, telling her what had happened here.

  “Hey, Bridge,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “Happy New Year. What’s up?”

  There was a split second of silence before she said, “You know, don’t you? Damn it!” I heard her pull the phone away and yell, “Colin, you told Elizabeth, didn’t you?” I heard Colin’s muffled response and she came back on the line. “Oh, well, no matter. Isn’t it fantastic? I’m so excited! I wish everyone could be this happy!”

  I smiled. I was glad that at least someone had had a nice New Year. “I’m really happy for you, Bridge,” I said. “How did he do it?” I cradled the phone to my ear and closed my eyes. Her voice was the closest thing I’d had to normalcy since arriving here.

  “Over dinner,” she replied. “He pushed this little black velvet box onto the table. As soon as I saw it, I started crying. I was just about to scream, ‘Yes, I will marry you!’ when I had an awful thought—what if the box had a pair of earrings in it and not a ring? But thankfully it was a ring. Oh, Elizabeth! I can’t wait to show you. It’s absolutely gorgeous!”

  She was right. It was a gorgeous ring. I had helped Colin pick it out two months ago, and trying to keep that secret had nearly killed me.

  “You’ll be my maid of honor, right?”

  “Of course I will! Just promise me that you won’t make me wear some god-awful dress with a bow on the butt.”

  “Don’t be absurd. You know me. I want to keep this very casual. What do you think about us getting married on a beach somewhere?”

  “I think your mother would slit her wrists,” I said honestly. Bridget’s free-spirited ways were a constant source of frustration to her mother. Mrs. Matthews was aghast at Bridget’s spiky hair, which veered from bright red to magenta or purple—a bit like Aunt Winnie’s. And Bridget’s clothes had a tendency to render the normally loquacious Mrs. Matthews mute. A wedding on the beach would no doubt push her over the edge.

  “You’re probably right.” Bridget sighed. “But I’ll be damned if I’m going to wear some ridiculous dress that makes me look like a giant meringue.”

  I heard Colin’s voice in the background and Bridget yelled, “That’s not funny, Colin!”

  She got back on the line. “So, how are you? How was your New Year’s?”

  My stomach sank. Caught up in Bridget’s excitement, I had almost forgotten about Gerald. Almost.

  “Well, it was a bit more exciting than anyone had planned for,” I said, attempting to downplay the seriousness of the situation. It might have been more believable had my voice not caught.

  “Elizabeth? What’s happened? Isn’t the inn doing well? Is Aunt Winnie okay? Are you okay?”

  “She’s fine. I’m fine,” I said, focusing on not crying. “It’s just, well, well, a man was actually murdered during the dinner show.”

  “Holy shit!”

  “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Afraid not.” I took a deep breath. This was ridiculous. I had to pull myself together. There was no reason for me to fall apart over Gerald Ramsey’s death. After all, it wasn’t as if he was someone I knew, or even wanted to know, for that matter. I refused to listen to the more emotional side of my brain, which told me that Gerald’s odious personality wasn’t the problem. It was the memory of his blank stare. I quickly told Bridget the rest, from the cliché-like shot in the dark to Detective Stewart and his intimidating eyebrow.

  “What a nightmare!” Bridget said when I was done. “How’s Aunt Winnie?”

  In the background I could hear Colin peppering Bridget with questions. “Colin,” she barked at him, “would you please shut up for half a minute! I can’t hear Elizabeth with you yelling at me! I’ll tell you in a second!”

  “She’s as good as can be expected,” I said. “Actually, I think she’s doing better than the rest of us.”

  “Well, that’s good. I’d be more worried if she were a mess. When are you coming home?”

  “I’m not sure. The police have asked me to stay for a few more days until this is all cleared up.”

  “But why? I don’t understand. Why do you have to stay? They can’t possibly think that you had anything to do with this!”

  “I don’t know what they think,” I said wearily.

  The sounds of a struggle floated over the phone line. Bridget yelled out angrily, “Colin, knock it off! Hey! What the hell are you doing? Give me back the phone!” The next voice I heard was Colin’s.

  “Elizabeth!” he said abruptly. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  At the sound of the concern in his voice, my eyes welled up, but I held the tears in check. “I’m fine, Colin, really. One of the guests died last night—well, he was murdered, and the police are still trying to figure out what happened.”

  “Jesus,” he said. “Do you want us to come up? We could be there in a couple of hours.” I heard Bridget yell something.

  “No! Please, Colin, don’t do that. I’m fine, really.” I added quickly, “I’m sure that I’ll be home in a day or so. Besides, I think the fewer people trampling around here, the better it will be for the investigation and for Aunt Winnie.”

  He hesitated. “Okay, if you’re certain. But make sure you keep us posted.”

  “I will,” I said. “I promise. Now go enjoy being engaged. Give Bridget a big hug for me. Don’t worry, Colin. I’ll see you soon. I’m perfectly fine.”

  He hung up and I congratulated myself. Apparently, I was finally getting better at hiding the truth from people.

  CHAPTER 10

  That would be a good thing for them to cut on my tombstone:

  Wherever she went, including here, it was

  against her better judgment.

  —DOROTHY PARKER

  A LT HOUGH SHE WASN’T expected to provide lunch, it being a B and B, not a B and B and L, Aunt Winnie nevertheless put out a tureen of clam chowder and some chicken sandwiches for the guests. It was a bit like leaving cookies out for Santa. You never saw anything eaten, but soon there was only an empty tray with a few crumbs. Not that I was complaining. I wasn’t keen on sitting in a room and watching other people not make eye contact with me.

  My conversation with Bridget and Colin reminded me that I had other phone calls to make. I would have to call my mother, sister, and boss to let them know what had happened. Unfortunately, my mother wasn’t home and I ended up speaking with George. He oozed concern for my safety—a sentiment that would have been more believable had he bothered to turn down the football game blaring in the background. My phone call to Kit was no more enjoyable. For five minutes she screamed incoherently about how this news affected her stress, which apparently had reached its zenith over the weekend. I didn’t bother to point out that had her stress indeed reached its zenith (her words), then my news could not have possibly added to it. She then proclaimed that had I joined her for New Year’s Eve “none of this would have happene
d” and asked if I had “even the slightest idea” of what this was doing to her blood pressure. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask how my presence at a hot tub party could have prevented a murder, but I restrained myself. As for her query about her stress and blood pressure, I refrained from calling them my old friends, having heard them mentioned with consideration for twenty years at least. She wouldn’t have caught the reference anyway and I saw no reason to waste a perfectly good line.

  The only call I enjoyed was the one to my boss, Cheryl. As I had anticipated, she ranted and raved once she understood that I would be out of the office for the next several days. She demanded to know who was in charge of the case and I happily obliged her by giving her Detective Stewart’s direct line. I hoped she would call him; they deserved each other.

  By midafternoon, Aunt Winnie and I had packed the food for Lauren and Polly and were on our way to their house, with the car radio blasting. When Aunt Winnie is stressed she likes to listen to country music. She says the songs are so depressing that they make her feel better in comparison. So as we drove along in her light blue ’68 Mercedes, I stared out the window, trying to ignore both the blaring music and her horrible attempts to sing along. Finally, it was too much for me and I reached over and turned the volume down. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Do you know what happens when you play country music backward?” I replied conversationally. Without waiting for her to answer, I continued. “You get your job back, your wife comes home, your dog comes back to life, you sober up …”

  “You know, some people consider country music an art form,” she countered.

  “Some people feel the same way about body piercing.”

  “Are you saying you prefer body piercing to country music?”

  I pretended to consider the question. “Would you be singing the country music?”

  She laughed. “Oh, never mind. We’re here.” Before us was a massive colonial situated a couple of hundred yards from the beach. Dusk was starting to settle by the time we pulled into the driveway, and the trees out front blazed with thousands upon thousands of tiny white lights. It was beautiful, to be sure, but in all honesty, I preferred the simple charm of Longbourn.