by Tracy Kiely
Peter had just gone up to bed when I heard the noise. It was coming from the dining room. This time, however, I wasn’t going to let Lady Catherine get the better of me. I marched into the room, flipped on the lights, and said in a loud, confident voice, “All right, you sly wench, get out!”
I don’t know who was more surprised—me or Joan Anderson.
She was standing motionless by the back door of the room, dressed in a dark sweater and slacks. Her red hair stood out around her head like a flaming halo. In her hand was a flashlight. Neither of us spoke for what seemed an eternity, although it was actually only a few seconds.
“Oh, Elizabeth, you scared me!” she said in a rush. Her hand went to her neck in a reflexive gesture. Was she kidding? I had scared her? My heart felt like it was about to leap out of my chest. “I hope I haven’t done anything wrong,” she continued. “I snuck outside for a cigarette.”
“A cigarette?” I repeated stupidly.
“Yes. I hope that’s okay. I didn’t want to smoke inside. I know I should probably quit, but …” She let the sentence hang unfinished in the air.
“I still don’t understand,” I said slowly.
Joan twisted the flashlight in her hands, so hard her knuckles showed starkly white. I doubt she was even aware she was doing it. “Well, to be honest, Henry would kill me if he knew I was still smoking. He thinks I quit. I snuck down here after he went to sleep. I’m sorry I startled you. I didn’t mean to.” Again, her hand strayed to her neck.
“But why are all the lights off?” I asked.
“Given what happened here last night, I guess I didn’t want anyone to see me in here,” she said. “I thought it might look bad.” She let out a small, nervous laugh. “But, of course, I see now that this looks even worse.”
She walked toward me and I took an involuntary step back. She was still clutching the flashlight in her hand, one of those large, heavy models that would do a very neat job of bashing in someone’s head. She noticed my movement and stopped short.
I didn’t say anything. She continued to stare at me and twist the flashlight. There seemed nothing more to say, so she finally said good night and moved toward the door. When she reached the doorway, she turned around. For a second I thought she was going to say something more. She didn’t. She scanned the room, gave me a slight smile, and turned to go. As she scurried across the foyer, I saw her hand unconsciously reach up to her bare neck again, seeking comfort from something that was not there.
CHAPTER 12
It’s when you’re safe at home that you wish you were
having an adventure. When you’re having an adventure,
you wish you were safe at home.
—THORNTON WILDER
LAZY BEAMS OF sunlight bathed my room in soft orange. Rolling over, I buried myself deeper into the warmth of the covers, savoring the brief seconds of blissful ignorance that precede full waking. But all too soon the madness of the last few days tumbled back. One memory in particular promoted a low groan: I was spending the morning with Peter.
Downstairs, I found Peter and Aunt Winnie huddled together in the kitchen. Jumping apart when they saw me, Aunt Winnie sang out a cheery, “Good morning, sweetie!” in a voice that I had long ago learned to associate with trouble. Lady Catherine was also in attendance. With her tail lazily switching back and forth, she watched me. From the inscrutable expression on her peevish face, it was hard to tell whether she was merely waiting for food or silently mocking me. With cats, you never can tell.
“What are you up to?” I asked without preamble.
Aunt Winnie shot Peter a warning glance before answering. “Would you like some coffee, dear?” she asked.
“Please,” I said, but did not relent. “What are you up to?”
Aunt Winnie opened her green eyes very wide in an attempt to appear innocent. She failed miserably. “Why, nothing at all,” she said in the chipper voice reserved for small children or the criminally insane. “You’re imagining things. You know how you are in the morning.” She poured coffee into a bright green mug that boldly proclaimed I VEGAS! and held it out to me. “Here, have some coffee.”
I looked at her and then at Peter, who seemed very interested in the floor.
“I’m not imagining things,” I muttered, before taking the coffee from her. I knew there was no use arguing. I would just have to brace myself for whatever it was that she was scheming. Besides, I thought as I sipped the hot coffee, Aunt Winnie looked tired. There were dark circles under her eyes and her cheeks were pale beneath her pink rouge. The stress and worry of the past few days were taking their toll on her.
“I was just going over my shopping list with Peter,” she continued smoothly. “I can’t thank you both enough for doing this for me.”
“Don’t be silly. Elizabeth and I are here to help,” said Peter. I suppressed an urge to throw my Vegas-loving mug at him. I wasn’t sure when he and I had become this big buddy team, but I found it irritating. The memory of our exchange over Daniel last night prompted another one—my encounter with Joan.
“I almost forgot,” I said. “Guess who I found prowling around the dining room last night?”
“Who?” said Aunt Winnie.
“Daniel?” said Peter.
My hand itched to launch my cup at his head, but I restrained myself.
“Joan Anderson,” I said, ignoring Peter.
“Really?” said Aunt Winnie. “What was she doing?”
“She said she’d been outside in the garden having a cigarette.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound too strange,” Peter said.
“She was sneaking around in the dark with a flashlight,” I added.
“Oh. Well, yes, that is a little strange,” he amended. “What do you think she was really doing?”
“I don’t know. She was upset about something. There’s more to it than she’s telling.”
“So you think she was lying about having a cigarette?” asked Aunt Winnie.
“I do,” I said. “I don’t know why, but I think there’s something she’s not telling us, or the police. Remember, she and Polly were outside together before the murder. They said they were looking at the snow, but as Detective Stewart pointed out, women generally don’t go outside in freezing weather wearing evening gowns.”
Aunt Winnie looked thoughtful. “I’ll see what I can find out from her today.”
“I’ll help,” I said.
“No,” she said firmly. “I need you to help Peter with the shopping. And speaking of which, you had better get ready, Elizabeth. Everything will be picked over unless you hurry.”
I looked down at my jeans and sweatshirt. “But I am ready,” I said.
Aunt Winnie cast a disparaging glance at my outfit. “You’re going into town, dear, not fishing. Trust me, you two are going to be scrutinized within an inch of your lives. We already have one black mark against us in that Gerald was murdered here. Let’s not add ‘slovenly appearance’ to our list of sins.” Her tone was light, but she wasn’t kidding about the message.
I felt my face flush and was about to tell her that I couldn’t care less what the locals thought of my appearance, when I caught sight of Peter’s face. Without another word, I turned and stormed out of the kitchen. I was so furious that I stalked by Daniel on the landing without so much as a hello. I thought I heard him call to me, but I kept walking. In my room, I angrily tore off my jeans and sweatshirt. But looking down at the ratty heap of clothes on the floor, I realized that Aunt Winnie was right. Peter and I would be the objects of study and gossip. How we looked, what we said, and what we did would be discussed. I owed it to Aunt Winnie to make as good an impression as possible. If the tide of public opinion turned against her, her business would assuredly fail.
After a quick shower, I pulled on cream-colored corduroy pants, a white oxford shirt, and a turquoise V-neck sweater—my one remaining decent outfit. If I was going to stay a few more days, I would either have to buy more clothes or do laun
dry. Buying more clothes won. I studied my reflection in the mirror and decided to pull my hair back into a loose French twist. I found my makeup bag and carefully applied powder, blush, eyeliner, mascara, and tinted lip gloss. Upon closer inspection, I decided to add a little concealer under my eyes and made a mental note to get tea bags and a cucumber at the store. While I assured myself that I was making this extra effort for Aunt Winnie’s sake, truth be told, I was remembering Peter’s smirk and his bland assumption last night that Daniel was only using me as a cover.
Surveying the result, I had to admit that I looked nice. No amount of makeup was going to turn me into a striking beauty, but at least I could hold my head up in town and, just as important, with Peter.
There was a knock at the door and Aunt Winnie stuck in her head. Turning her way, I struck a pose. “There. Will I disgrace you?”
She laughed. “You look very pretty. Thank you. I gave Peter the list and the money. It should cover everything.”
“Well, I’ll chip in some,” I said.
“Don’t be silly. Now get going. I think Peter is already downstairs.” I headed down the stairs. Daniel, still in the hall, gave a low whistle when he saw me and I felt my face grow warm.
“Hello, Daniel,” I said.
“Hello, yourself.” He smiled and walked toward me with a definite glint in his eye just as Peter rounded the corner.
“Elizabeth!” Peter called out, exasperated. “Are you ready yet? We need to get going!” He stopped short when he saw Daniel. “Oh,” he said briskly. “Morning, Daniel. I didn’t see you.” He turned back to me, suddenly all smiles. “We really should get going, Elizabeth.” His voice sounded peculiar, and with a jolt I realized he was trying to sound friendly.
“I am ready,” I said. “Let me just get my coat.”
“I’ve already got it.” Peter thrust it toward me. I started to take it from him when he suddenly changed his mind and tried to help me into it. A small wrestling match ensued as we both tried to put my coat on me.
“You two have a big day planned?” Daniel asked in an amused voice.
I opened my mouth to respond but Peter answered instead. “Oh, nothing too special. Just the usual.”
Before I could ask Peter what was “usual” about us going shopping, he pressed his hand firmly against the small of my back and propelled me toward the door. Feeling like I had been dropped in medias res into a play where I didn’t know my lines, let alone what the other actors were doing, I reluctantly allowed myself to be led away.
“See you later, Daniel,” I said.
“I’ll be here,” he answered.
“Good bye, Daniel,” Peter called over his shoulder. I glanced back. Daniel watched our exit, a puzzled expression on his face.
Outside, I turned to Peter and said, “Just what the hell was that all about?”
“Shut up,” he said through a fake smile. “He’s still watching us.”
“Who is?” I asked, bewildered.
“Daniel, of course.”
At the side of his black Jeep, he opened the door and pushed me in. I waited until he had climbed into the driver’s seat before I continued. “Why are we putting on a show for Daniel?”
“I want to throw him off his guard a little” was Peter’s cryptic reply. My additional questions were met with similar nonresponses. After a few minutes, I gave up and stared out the window in frustrated silence. Long stretches of flat sand dotted with empty lifeguard chairs gave way to sandy dunes and faded gray cottages. A sign in front of a washed-out red general store promised to see us in the summer.
“I thought we would go to the grocery first,” Peter said, breaking the silence as he maneuvered the car into town.
“That’s fine with me. I assume you have the list?”
“Got it right here.” He patted the pocket of his coat. He deftly parked in a spot on Main Street and we got out. The temperature had dropped during the night and the wind had picked up. I pulled my coat tightly around me. “Which way?”
“Follow me,” he said, making his way quickly down the street. In spite of the blustery weather, the streets were alive with activity. Aunt Winnie had been right: Peter and I were not going unnoticed. While no one stopped and outwardly gawked, a fair number of heads turned our way. I was surprised that we had been spotted so easily until I remembered that this was a small town and Peter was probably already known by most of the inhabitants. We crunched down the snow-covered, tree-lined street, passing several clapboard buildings in various shades of white and pale yellow. Most were still decked out in their Christmas decorations. Finally, we came to a freshly painted white building sporting a wooden sign in the window that simply read PRITCHARD’S. It was a small, well-stocked grocery store. Several of the customers noted our entrance, and not for the first time that morning I was glad that I had followed Aunt Winnie’s advice.
As Peter and I bagged shiny red apples that looked as if they had been buffed within an inch of their lives, a heavyset woman with a pinched mouth and small, shrewd eyes spotted Peter. She bore down on him with predatory intent.
“Why, Peter!” Her tone was overly familiar. “I thought that was you! Happy New Year!”
At the sound of her voice, Peter stiffened. He turned to face her. “Hello, Mrs. Pritchard. How are you today?”
“Well, I’m fine, of course. The real question is, how are you? It sounds like I missed quite a time at Ms. Reynolds’s New Year’s party.” In a conspiratorial tone, she added, “Are the stories I’m hearing true?”
“I don’t know,” Peter said evenly. “What stories have you been hearing?”
“Well,” said Mrs. Pritchard, eagerly leaning her massive frame closer to Peter, “from what I hear, Mr. Ramsey threatened Ms. Reynolds—told her that he would force her to sell him the inn come hell or high water—and she shot him right through the heart! I know she’s an old friend of yours, Peter, but I’ve always said that there is something odd about that woman, if you know what I mean. For one thing, she drives through this town in that car of hers like a raving lunatic.” My hand constricted around the apple I was holding and I fantasized lobbing it at her head. Peter must have sensed this because he discreetly took the apple from me and silently added it to the others in the bag.
“Well, you can take it from me, Mrs. Pritchard,” he said calmly. “Ms. Reynolds was not threatened by Mr. Ramsey, nor did she shoot him. The police are still investigating the matter.”
Mrs. Pritchard’s fleshy face fell in disappointment. “Oh, well, I suppose there’s no dearth of people who wanted to get rid of that old buzzard. He made his daughter’s life a sheer hell, I can tell you. I heard he wouldn’t even let her move out and live on her own. Said it wasn’t proper for a single girl to live alone or some such nonsense. And then there’s that wife of his.” With a crude twist of her mouth, her eyes flashed knowingly at Peter. My stomach roiled in disgust. “I heard that she’d had enough of His Nibs and wanted out. And from what I hear, she has someone waiting in the wings, if you know what I mean.”
I must have made a noise, because her birdlike eyes homed in on me. “And who is this?” she asked. “Your girlfriend?”
“This is Elizabeth Parker,” Peter said. “She’s Ms. Reynolds’s grandniece.” A normal person would have been embarrassed, but not Mrs. Pritchard. She merely stared at me more openly, as if I were a specimen under glass.
“Really?” She studied me from head to toe. “I’ve heard about you.” Her expression indicated she found the inventory lacking. “You’re not at all how I pictured you.”
“Oh?” I said politely. “That’s funny. You’re just how I pictured you, Mrs. Pritchard.”
She blinked. Twice. Before she could respond, a smallish man poked his head out of the back room and called to her.
“Doris!” he yelled in a thin reedy voice. “Can you come here a moment? I can’t find the green beans.” He was as thin as she was heavy. They were Jack Sprat and his wife come to life.
“He
lpless man,” Mrs. Pritchard muttered before excusing herself. “Alfred, they’re right next to the canned tomatoes!” she yelled, stalking toward the back room.
“She’s a real charmer,” I said, watching her wide retreating back.
“I think every town must have a Doris Pritchard,” Peter said in a resigned voice.
“Maybe so. But she manages to make Jackie seem innocuous.”
Hoping to avoid another encounter with Doris, we quickly loaded the cart with the remaining items on the list. We were just nearing the checkout line when she descended on us again. With her was a pale, anemic-looking girl. Peter saw them first. “Oh, God,” he moaned under his breath as they approached.
“Oh, there you are!” said Mrs. Pritchard. “I was hoping I would catch you! I was just thinking that there’s no call for you two to lug all this stuff back to the inn. My daughter will be happy to deliver it for you. I’m sure you remember Jessie, don’t you, Peter?”
She thrust the girl forward. Jessie was an unfortunate mix of her mother’s birdlike features and her father’s scrawny build. She peered eagerly out at Peter from behind a lock of limp mousy brown hair with an expression that had nothing to do with a desire to deliver groceries.
“Hello, Peter,” she simpered.
Peter appeared to have lost his voice. I had lost my patience.
“Thank you very much, Mrs. Pritchard,” I said, forcing a jolly smile on my face. “But we can’t take you up on your offer.”
“But why ever not?” said Mrs. Pritchard. “I’m sure you have other errands to run today.”
“True,” I said. “But the police have asked us to keep outside traffic to a bare minimum until they’ve finished their investigation. Emergencies only.” It was certainly a bold-faced lie, and expressly against my New Year’s resolutions, but there was no way I was going to let that woman or her daughter within ten feet of Aunt Winnie or the inn.