Murder at Longbourn: A Mystery

by Tracy Kiely

  I was so caught up in the memory of that day that as I entered the room, I imagined I was seeing Jackie again, but it was only Linnet. She was sitting in the very same chair that Jackie had sat in. Her head was tilted to one side and she wore an expression of worry on her face. I closed my eyes, trying to remember every word that had preceded Jackie’s flustered behavior and her statement that something was wrong. What were they? If only she had told someone what had bothered her, she might still be alive. I opened my eyes and looked at Linnet. She stared back at me, her expression anxious. Had she lied before about knowing anything? Could Jackie, in fact, have hinted at what she had been thinking?

  I walked toward her and she stood up. “Mrs. Westin?” I said. It was evident that Jackie’s death had taken a terrible toll on her. Her clothes, usually elegant and stylish, hung shapelessly from her frame. She was still wearing her oversize tinted glasses and her makeup seemed heavier than usual. I suspected her vanity was trying to overcompensate for her haggard appearance.

  “Hello, Elizabeth. How are you?” She sounded tired.

  “I’m fine, but if you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t look so good. Can I get you anything?”

  “No, I’m all right.” Her words came out haltingly, as if she was having trouble speaking. “All this death. It’s harder than you realize. And I miss her. We were friends for so long. She could be such a pain sometimes, but now I’m alone, with no one. No one to talk with about the old days. Martin. No one else remembers.” Her voice broke and she swayed toward me. I reached out to steady her.

  “Mrs. Westin, why don’t I take you home? I think all this has been too much for you.”

  With apparent effort she whispered, “They all think I know something. But I don’t! I don’t! They keep looking at me, talking to me, bringing me drinks I don’t want, just to talk to me.” She stared vacantly at the drink in her hand and muttered thickly, “Tastes awful, too.”

  A prickling sensation ran down my spine. I took the drink from her. She didn’t seem to notice. I turned my head to search for Peter. Catching his eye, I frantically waved to him. But it was too late. Beside me, Linnet Westin crumpled to the ground.

  CHAPTER 23

  Expect the worst and you won’t be disappointed.

  —HELEN MACINNES

  I STARED DOWN at Linnet’s inert form and screamed. Peter was at my side in an instant, followed by Aunt Winnie and Randy. Peter gently picked up Linnet and laid her on the couch. Randy ran to call 911.

  “What the hell happened?” Peter barked at me.

  “I don’t know,” I said, staring down at Linnet’s face. Her lips were slack and beads of perspiration covered her face. She murmured indistinctly. Keeping my voice low, I added, “She said people thought she knew what Jackie was going to say. She seemed nervous and said her drink tasted funny. Then she passed out.” Peter stared at me wide-eyed. I nodded at the glass in my hand. “Is that … ?” he began.

  “Yes. When the police come, I’ll give it to them. Maybe they can test it.”

  Aunt Winnie knelt beside Linnet and grabbed her hand. “Linnet?” she said loudly. “It’s Winnie. You hang on. The paramedics are on their way. Everything is going to be okay. Can you hear me? It’s Winnie.”

  Linnet moved her head slightly but did not raise her lids. “Linney?” she said, her voice distant and confused.

  Aunt Winnie raised worried eyes to mine. “No. Winnie,” she said, a shade louder. “Just relax. The paramedics are coming. You’re going to be fine.”

  Next to me, Peter whispered, “She’s delirious.”

  “I know. She sounded that way before she collapsed.”

  Lauren pushed through the small crowd gathered around us and stared down at Linnet. “Oh, my God!” she said, her blue eyes wide with horror. “What happened? Did she have a heart attack?”

  “It would seem so,” Peter said quickly, lightly stepping on my foot. Annoyance surged through me. Did he really think I was so stupid that I was going to blurt out that I thought she’d been poisoned with the drink I now held in my hand? I debated returning the gesture—albeit a lot harder.

  “How awful,” Lauren murmured.

  Polly appeared with Daniel in tow. Her lipstick was smudged. I have no idea how Daniel appeared; I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. “We called 911,” Polly said. “They should be here any minute. Is there anything we can do for her?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Peter. “We’d best wait for the paramedics.”

  “What happened?” asked Daniel. He stood tensely, his left hand balled into a tight fist.

  “They think it was a heart attack,” said Lauren. Staring at Linnet, she said, “Poor thing. It’s no wonder, really. The stress of the last few days must have gotten to her. Why, when I saw her this morning, I almost didn’t recognize her.”

  “Yes,” said Polly. “I thought she looked ill, too.”

  I wondered if either woman really had been fearful for Linnet’s health or if it merely made for a good cover story. The mournful wail of a siren reverberated through the room and I clutched the heavy glass a little tighter.

  As they had on New Year’s, two men dressed in white raced into the room with a gurney and quickly checked a recumbent body for signs of life. Thankfully, this time their trip wasn’t for naught. In silence, we watched as Linnet was lifted onto the gurney and rushed to a waiting ambulance. The siren faded, only to be replaced with another, more ominous sound—a low, throaty cough. Detective Stewart was standing in the doorway, his bulky frame taking up most of that space. He was staring directly at me. There was little pleasure reflected in his hazel eyes. I suspected that there’d be even less after I explained to him my theory about what I now held in my hands.

  I resolutely forced myself across the room to where he stood. “I have to talk to you,” I said, my voice low, “in private.”

  “Imagine my surprise,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

  I followed him into the foyer. “Linnet Westin was drinking this right before she collapsed.” My words tumbled over each other in a rush. “She wasn’t making too much sense, but she told me that she thought others suspected her of knowing what Jackie knew. She said that people kept pushing drinks on her and that they tasted terrible.” I thrust the glass at him. “You probably should get this tested. I bet there’s some kind of poison in it. Check for ones that make you delirious and dizzy. If you want, I could—”

  But he didn’t let me finish. Roughly grabbing the glass from me and sending the amber contents sloshing violently, he leaned in so close that I could clearly make out each beat of the throbbing vein that ran down his jaw. “What do you think you’re doing?” he growled, his teeth clenched.

  I looked at him in surprise. “I’m trying to help.”

  “Well, unless I ask you to—don’t!”

  “Are you kidding me? A woman collapses on the floor moments after telling me that people are pressing her for information and that her drink tastes funny, and you want me to … what? Mind my own business and just go home?”

  “What I want is for you to let the police do their jobs and you to stay out of it. Thank you for the drink sample, but stay out of this! Don’t you understand that you could be killed? One person has already died because someone thought she knew too much. Now we may have a second. I do not want you to make it a third. Got me?”

  I’m not sure what I was going to say, but it was probably for the best that one of the sergeants came into the foyer. He eyed me suspiciously and said, “Detective Stewart? Could I speak to you for a moment?”

  Detective Stewart took a deep breath and nodded. He stepped toward the sergeant and then turned back to me. Giving me a level look, he said, “I hope I’ve made myself clear.”

  “Crystal,” I snapped back.

  The throbbing of the vein in his jaw accelerated and I was suddenly afraid it would explode. I wondered if I had pushed him too far. He glowered, but I held my ground and willed myself not to look away. Without ano
ther word, he turned and stalked out of the foyer. I sank down on one of the antique chairs that lined the hall, my bravado spent.

  By the time the police finished taking everyone’s statement, it was late afternoon. We piled into Aunt Winnie’s car, none of us saying much. Next to me in the backseat, Peter called the hospital and tried to get information on Linnet’s condition. I listened closely to his end of the conversation, even though it was difficult to comprehend anything given his penchant for monosyllabic responses. Up front, Aunt Winnie seemed intent on besting her own personal speed record. Randy sat calmly beside her, apparently immune to her crazy driving. Frankly, I was astounded at the almost Zen-like serenity he exuded in the face of obvious danger. But when he didn’t flinch after our near miss with a snowplow, I realized the reason for his composure. He had taken off his glasses. Virtually blind without them, he rode in blissful oblivion. Clearly he had ridden with Aunt Winnie before. After what seemed an eternity, Peter snapped his cell phone shut and sagged into his seat.

  “Well?” I said.

  “She’s going to be fine,” Peter said. “She was poisoned—with digitalis, apparently, but thankfully, it wasn’t a fatal dose. They pumped her stomach.”

  “What’s digitalis?” Aunt Winnie and I asked at the same time.

  “Poisonous plant, I guess, otherwise known as foxglove. It’s pretty common around here,” Peter replied.

  “Which means anyone could have gotten it. Where is Linnet now?”

  “Still at the hospital. They’re going to release her tomorrow or the next day.”

  From the front seat, Aunt Winnie swiveled around and stared at Peter, aghast. “That soon? But that’s insane! The poor woman was poisoned!”

  “I agree,” said Peter, “but there’s no use arguing with insurance companies. Speaking of which, would you please turn around and watch the road before the rest of us need to file claims?”

  “Well, we can’t let her go home by herself,” said Aunt Winnie, once again facing front. “I’ll see if I can talk her into staying with us for a few days. She really shouldn’t be alone. After all, someone tried to kill her!”

  A black car pulled up beside us. The back window rolled down and I saw a hand launch something toward our car. My scream of warning came too late, and before I knew it, I was covered with glass and a brick lay on the floor. Before I could think to get a look at the license plate, the car was gone. Aunt Winnie slammed on the brakes and pulled over. “Is anybody hurt?” she yelled.

  “What the hell happened?” Randy asked, fumbling for his glasses.

  Peter grabbed the front of my coat and shook the glass off. Then he brushed his hands over my arms and pulled my hands up to inspect them.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “I think we’re both okay,” he answered Aunt Winnie.

  He reached down and grabbed the brick. In red letters the word Murderer was crudely painted on the side. Silently, he showed it to me. “What is that?” asked Aunt Winnie.

  “Nothing,” said Peter.

  “Don’t give me that,” she said, turning her head to the backseat. “What does it say? I can see lettering.”

  Peter read it out and Aunt Winnie was silent. Without saying another word, she started the engine and pulled out onto the road.

  “Aunt Winnie?” I said.

  “Not now, Elizabeth. I need to think.”

  Nothing more was said until we skidded to a stop in the inn’s driveway. I staggered into the reading room, tired and angry. I sank gratefully into one of the chairs and closed my eyes. Aunt Winnie went straight to the office. I heard the click of her answering machine as she played back her messages. A few minutes later, she came into the reading room and headed for the drink cart. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m having a drink. Can I get anyone else one?”

  Peter and Randy put in their orders. I kept my eyes closed. Finally, I heard Aunt Winnie’s voice. “Elizabeth?”

  “What?”

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Aw, come on, Elizabeth,” said Peter, trying to inject an air of normalcy into the tension. “The hair of the dog that bit you and all that?”

  “It’s more like the hair of the mastiff that mauled me,” I replied, opening my eyes. “No, I’m off the hard stuff for a while.”

  “Whatever you say,” said Aunt Winnie, making the drinks. Once done, she sat down on the couch next to Randy. Taking his drink from her outstretched hand, he asked, “Did you call the police?”

  She shook her head. “And say what? That someone launched a brick into my car window? What are they going to do?”

  “They could at least look into it,” I said. “You should report it!”

  Aunt Winnie didn’t seem to hear me. “Were there any messages?” Randy asked, his voice low.

  She nodded. “A few crank calls, but mostly cancellations. It’s just as I feared. People don’t want to stay here because they think I had something to do with what happened.” Randy reached over and took her hand. She stared at the floor. Lady Catherine sauntered into the room and leaped up onto her lap. Aunt Winnie didn’t seem to notice.

  “Aunt Winnie?” I asked. “Are you all right?”

  At the sound of my voice, she raised her head. “I’ve made a decision,” she said slowly. She glanced at Peter. He sat up straighter in his chair. “I’m going to sell Longbourn.”

  Her words were like a painful kick to my already ailing stomach. In spite of the state of my head, my reaction was swift and explosive. “What?” I yelled, jumping out of my chair. “But you can’t! This has nothing to do with you! You love this place too much to sell it!” My voice caught and I realized that over the past few days, I, too, had grown to love Longbourn. The thought of it being sold was a physical blow.

  “Elizabeth, please calm down. I’ve given this a lot of thought and I think it’s for the best. Like it or not, I’m going to be forever associated with this tragedy. People are canceling their reservations and really, who can blame them? Would you want to stay at an inn where the owner is suspected of murder? While I think I could weather the cancellations, I won’t put your lives in danger. We were lucky today that no one was hurt. We might not be so lucky the next time.”

  “But who are you going to sell it to?” I sputtered.

  Aunt Winnie took a deep breath, but it was Peter who spoke. “To me,” he said quietly. “She’s going to sell it to me.”

  I whirled around dumbfounded and stared down at him. Unflinchingly, he stared back.

  The hate I had felt toward Peter that summer so long ago was nothing compared with the rage engulfing me now.

  CHAPTER 24

  Now comes the mystery.

  —HENRY WARD BEECHER

  I T’S NOT WHAT you think,” said Peter, warily holding out his hand.

  “Don’t even talk to me,” I shot back. “You have no idea what I think.”

  “Elizabeth,” said Aunt Winnie. “Please. Sit down and listen to me.”

  “But you can’t sell this place!” I said. “All this trouble will pass and people will forget. You can’t just give up!”

  “I’m not giving up, not in the way you think,” she said, but I wasn’t listening.

  I turned back to Peter. “How could you do this? Your secret phone calls have been about this, haven’t they? To get this place.”

  “Yes, but Elizabeth, just let me explain,” he said. “Aunt Winnie is selling me a part of the inn, kind of like a partnership. And it’s only temporary. I’ll take over, change the name …”

  I blanched.

  “Just so that people forget the association,” he explained quickly. “Once people have moved on and the police have arrested the killer, Aunt Winnie can buy her share back.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “If you’re going to buy it back anyway, why sell it in the first place?”

  “Elizabeth,” said Aunt Winnie, “Peter and his parents are offering me a way not t
o lose my shirt because of all of this. If I turn over control of the inn to them, people might stay here again. They’ll change the name and no one will associate this place with me anymore. The inn can continue. And then, once the police have solved this case and everyone has moved on with their lives, I can come back and take it over again. But I couldn’t live if anything happened to you because some crazies think I killed Gerald and Jackie.”

  “But what are you going to do in the meantime?”

  She pulled Randy’s hand into her lap and, with a small smile, said, “Travel—with Randy.” Randy returned her smile.

  “What about your bookstore?”

  “I’m selling it,” said Randy. “Without Gerald, the plan for the mini–shopping center fell through and I was able to find a buyer.”

  I was still standing with my fists clenched at my sides. “Elizabeth,” said Aunt Winnie, “it’s what I want to do. No one forced me into this. It was my decision. It’s because I love Longbourn so much that I’m doing this. If people won’t stay here, then I don’t have a business. But if Peter and his parents take it over, then it has a chance. And like Peter said, once all this is finished, I can buy my share back. I will feel much better with them running the inn rather than some stranger.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Aunt Winnie’s mind was made up. I looked at her and Randy sitting together on the couch. I refused to look at Peter. Randy caught my eye and said gently, “From a business point of view, it makes great sense.”

  Defeated, I shook my head and turned to leave the room. “Where are you going?” Aunt Winnie called out after me.