Lucy and the Valentine Verdict

by Rae Davies

  Then there was the fact that I’d most likely be destroying evidence. I frowned. I really wasn’t trusting Mandrake at all.

  The door to the dining room flew open and my hero, Peter, strolled in. Well, he was usually my hero. As he held up his monocle and made his way to the tray of martini glasses, I wasn’t so sure about that right now.

  He stared down and cocked one brow. “A glass is missing.”

  Both men looked at me.

  A fist tightened around my heart and sweat beaded on my lip. I grabbed a napkin and wiped it off.

  Then I remembered this was play-acting. And even if it wasn’t, I hadn’t done anything wrong.

  My upper lip curled, and I think I snarled. Someone did.

  Peter’s other brow rose.

  Mandrake, turncoat that he was, raised his hand and pointed at me. “I had just noticed that. She must have killed Mrs. Peabody. Poisoned her and then destroyed the glass to cover her crime.”

  A chorus of gasps caused me to turn in a circle. The entire dinner party, dead woman included, pressed into the kitchen.

  o0o

  “Mr. Blore, Captain Egg, detain her!” our loving hostess called out.

  Both men took steps toward me. I scowled, causing Blore to rethink his next move.

  Egg, aka my boyfriend, however, was undeterred. He placed his hand around my arm and gave it a light squeeze. “I have her. Should I take her to my cabin for questioning?” His finger moved up and down the bare skin of my upper arm.

  Lady York frowned. “I don’t think that will be necessary. Dr. Armstrong, what did you discover from the body?”

  Armstrong pulled his cheat card from his pocket and cleared his throat. “The victim was most definitely poisoned. Unfortunately, without access to my laboratory, I can’t say by what substance.”

  All eyes turned back to me.

  “Perhaps she still has it on her,” Peter suggested. His free hand wandered a bit, roaming down my side to the curve of my hip.

  However, being accused of murder as I was, I was not in a mood to play. I kicked backward, aiming for his shin.

  My aim was good, but his leather boots blunted the blow. He chuckled.

  Lady York gave him a disapproving look before getting back into role. “I doubt she would be naive enough to leave any evidence on her, especially if she had the foresight to get rid of the glass.”

  “But when did she get rid of the glass?” Emily Brent wanted to know.

  Mandrake it seemed had an answer. “When she brought the tray in. I thought it odd that when Mrs. Peabody fell, Ann continued on into the kitchen.”

  “Yes,” Lady York agreed. “She isn’t the most dedicated of workers.”

  I raised a brow.

  “And we were all occupied looking at Mrs. Peabody,” Mr. Blore added, obviously warming up to the idea of me as the killer.

  I folded my arms over my chest and leaned against the counter. The kangaroo court was off and hopping. I couldn’t see how I could say anything to stop them, especially since for all I knew I had killed Mrs. Peabody... pretend killed that was.

  The dead body in question leaned against the counter next to me. “They have you on motive, but what about means? What do you know of poison?” she suggested.

  No one looked at her. Not that that could have been expected. She was dead after all.

  I, however, wasn’t. I cleared my throat and said, “But I don’t know anything about poison. I wouldn’t have any idea what to give someone to kill them so quickly.”

  That stopped them for a moment. They dug in their pockets and pulled out their cards. Emphasis on the plural there. Everyone except me and Mrs. Peabody seemed to have a stack of cards; I still had only one.

  I could only guess there had been more handed out while Mandrake and I had been in the kitchen and his initial envelope must have been much fuller than mine.

  I was beginning to suspect that I had been cast as patsy as much as maid.

  Killer, fine, but patsy? I didn’t care for that at all.

  I stepped away from the counter and Peter’s loose grip. I pointed at Mr. Blore. “What about him? He mixed the drinks. Or maybe...” I swiveled until Mandrake was in my sights. “The butler. He had the tray with the glasses. Maybe he added the poison to Mrs. Peabody’s glass before it was filled. Or... Vera Claythorne. She told me she worked for a pharmaceutical company, and I saw her give Mrs. Peabody a pill. Or maybe the poison wasn’t even ingested. Maybe the killer pricked her with a dart or even shot her from across the room.” I turned my attention to Peter. “Captain Egg, where did you say you served? It wouldn’t have been Africa, would it? Home of the boomslang snake?”

  Peter, damn him, didn’t miss a beat. He turned to our host. “No, but Sir Arthur was just telling us of his adventures on the Dark Continent.”

  All eyes moved to our host.

  I was feeling quite proud of myself and my knowledge of all things Christie until Mandrake lunged forward and pulled something out of my cleavage. At least it looked like the small folded note he held between two upraised fingers had come from my cleavage. I didn’t remember placing anything there and I hadn’t felt him pull anything out from that space either.

  I placed my hands over my recently assaulted breasts.

  “What is this?” the butler asked, waving the note in the air. Slowly and with every eye watching him, he unfolded the paper.

  I had an irrational urge to throw myself at him, grab the note and devour it before he could read one word. Peter gave me a sideways look and then pulled Kiska to his side, reminding me that Kiska had destroyed evidence in a similar manner not all that long ago.

  Not wanting to establish a pattern of behavior, I gritted my teeth and pasted a bored superior look on my face.

  “It’s a will!” Mandrake declared with enough melodrama to make even me suck in a breath.

  “Hold on a second,” Sir Arthur declared. “You probably shouldn’t be handling that. Fingerprints, don’t you know.” He pulled a pocket square out of his jacket and carefully took the note from the butler.

  When the note was spread out flat on the kitchen countertop, the party gathered around.

  Emily Brent, who had somehow wedged her way into the front of the pack, began reading.

  It wasn’t a will at all. It was instead some kind of a poem about a maid who was tired of digging potatoes and “spudding up docks,” whatever that was.

  I gave Mandrake a sideways look. He’d seemed nice enough when we were eating dinner, but now everything he said and did seemed pointed at directing blame to me.

  Peter leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Play-acting, Lucy.”

  I blinked. Oh, yeah. Mandrake was in character. I really needed to work on being less sensitive.

  I also, however, wanted to win, and if Mandrake the character was working this hard to cast suspicion on Ann the Maid, there had to be a reason.

  I pulled out my handy notebook and scribbled down my thoughts.

  “It’s Thomas Hardy,” Miss Claythorne announced.

  I looked around, thinking for a second that someone new had joined us.

  “The poet,” she clarified. “It’s his poem, The Ruined Maid.”

  Of course. I nodded my head and tried to look educated, only to realize everyone was once again looking at me.

  “I’m not ruined,” I declared, maybe a little too defensively.

  Miss Brent lifted a brow and stared pointedly at my too short skirt.

  I tugged it down, revealing my note-hiding cleavage again.

  Peter smiled and then pulled my lace runner over my front before returning to character and facing the group. “We should give Maid Ann a chance to explain why she had the poem... tucked away.”

  His lip quirked.

  I opened my mouth to announce Mandrake’s duplicity, but was cut short by Lady York raising her hand and declaring the mystery party done for the evening.

  “We’ll pick up again tomorrow at brunch. Ann, Mandrake, I’ll nee
d you to come in a half an hour earlier than the other guests.” The words were brisk and her face drawn. She snatched the poem up from the counter, folded it back into its previous discreet shape and concealed it in her fisted hand.

  Mr. Blore in particular did not look pleased with the announcement. “Done? But it’s only...”

  Dr. Armstrong and Emily Brent chimed in too, adding their voices to Mr. Blore’s and increasing the tension I could feel building in the air.

  Lady York, however, had regained her composure. “Don’t fret. Your mystery hasn’t been cut short. In fact, you’ll be getting more mystery for your money.”

  Mrs. Peabody moved into the space beside me. She held a full martini glass in her hand and sipped happily as the others argued. “Usually, the only things we do the next day mystery-wise are the accusations and final unveiling. Guess she’s going longer this time.”

  “But I thought it was a full weekend.” The price I’d seen on the flyer was certainly enough to cover two nights at even the fanciest of hotels in Montana. Not that there were any overly fancy hotels... And even with having to work for my supper, I wasn’t willing to have my romantic getaway cut short.

  “Oh, it’s a full weekend, but after the unveiling, they slip in some DVDs and call it good. I think Andrea, excuse me, Lady York, has a gym set up in one of the cabins. At least I’ve seen her leaving one in disarray on more than one occasion.” She laughed and took another sip.

  “Oh.” I wasn’t sure how else to respond. The flyer certainly hadn’t mentioned that the mystery part of the weekend was really only one night, but then if this weekend was going to be carried further, I really couldn’t complain.

  Mrs. Peabody, apparently deciding we were buds, looped her arm through mine and pulled me toward the living room. “Let’s drink on it.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Peter who seemed to have been similarly cornered by Lady York. At least I assumed he had been cornered. He was pressed up against the dining room wall while she talked to him in an animated manner.

  Mrs. Peabody, catching the direction of my attention, stopped and frowned. Her eyes narrowed, and for a minute I thought she might stomp over and jerk my boyfriend from our hostess’ trap. Peter’s gaze slid to the side, catching me with a beseeching look.

  I smiled and started to move forward, but Mrs. Peabody, who had apparently seen his look of desperation too, laughed. Then she grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into the living room.

  “Let him suffer a little. It won’t hurt him.”

  Mr. Blore was back at the bar, mixing a fresh batch of martinis. Mrs. Peabody grabbed a glass for me and watched carefully as he filled both hers and mine to the rim.

  I was taking a sip of something pink and frothy and very Valentiney, if not at all what I would have expected either a pretend banker or a real rancher to concoct, when Peter and Lady York walked through the door from the dining room.

  Our hostess looked pensive and not happy. Peter looked like he always looked, calm and unruffled.

  He walked over to stand next to me as I sipped. His presence made my skin tingle. I didn’t know why he had this affect on me. It was both insanely attractive and wholly annoying that all he had to do was stand silently with his hands in his pockets and my insides fluttered.

  I don’t think he was even aware that he did it, but whenever he entered a room, he sized it and everyone in it up. Then he stood by watching, in a crazy casual way that told you whatever might happen, he would have things under control. He was top dog without ever having to so much as snarl.

  It was, quite honestly, stupid sexy.

  Mrs. Peabody cocked an eyebrow. “Cop or military?”

  My surprise must have shown on my face. “Detective, in Helena.”

  She nodded and took a drink. “He has the look.”

  I smiled. I couldn’t help it. He did, and he was here with me. I put my hand on his arm and lifted up on my toes to whisper in his ear that Kiska was looking a little tired and perhaps we should take our drinks to our cabin.

  Furniture squeaked. Recognizing the sound of old wood being moved, I turned. Lady York stood in front of the buffet, directing her husband as he pulled the piece of furniture away from the wall.

  “It has to be there,” she said. “It isn’t on the floor. It must have slipped behind it and gotten trapped between the back and the wall.”

  Except as the antique wood creaked and the not antique, but not overly young Sir Arthur reddened, nothing dropped from behind the buffet onto the floor.

  Apparently not trusting her husband’s efforts, Lady York strode forward and pulled the buffet another two feet away from the baseboard. “It’s not here!” she announced, holding up her hands. Frustration was clear on her face. She turned to face the room, her gaze moving over each of us in a less-than-welcoming manner.

  Her eyes lit on Peter and something behind them clicked. She strode forward and looped her arm through the one I wasn’t already holding. “Detective,” she murmured. “Could we have another word?”

  Her husband, still standing by the buffet, held up his arm. “Andre– Lady York, don’t you think–”

  She hesitated, then pulled in a breath and closed her eyes for a brief moment. When she opened them, she seemed both composed and back in character. “I’m sorry. The events of the evening seem to have shaken me more than I’d realized.” She dropped Peter’s arm and stepped into the center of the room. “It’s just... my husband’s dear grandmother’s watch. I’d had it on earlier, but the catch was pulling at my dress. So I took it off and left it on that...” She pointed across the room. “...buffet. And now it’s gone. It seems dear guests, not only do we have a murderer amongst us, but a thief as well.”

  I glanced around the room, wondering if the drama of her tone was as lost on the other guests as it was on me. I mean thievery when lined up against murder... Then I realized... “You mean your watch is really missing?” I blurted.

  Her gaze moved to me, cold and assessing. “You haven’t seen it, have you, Maid Ann? You were admiring it...” She tempered her accusation with a smile, but it didn’t change the facts.

  Her watch had been stolen and for the second time that night, I was the prime suspect, this time for real.

  Chapter 6

  Things became a bit chaotic after that, everyone staring at me, whispering and moving around as if I might reach out and snatch the loose change out of their pockets.

  I could feel their distrust, and it hurt. I pulled my linen runner tighter about my shoulders and tried to look as if I didn’t care. Beside me, Peter stood stiff and angry, his gaze narrowed and moving over the group.

  “Here,” Mrs. Peabody tipped the martini shaker, pouring more of the frothy pink concoction into my glass. “Don’t let her get to you. I was with you all the time. Besides, in that outfit where would you hide anything?”

  I glanced down at my dress. She had a point.

  “She’s just pissy because her game players aren’t following the script. She probably stole the thing herself.”

  “Why would she do that?” I asked, taking a bigger drink than I probably should have. The alcohol hit the back of my throat and I coughed.

  Mrs. Peabody pounded me on the back. “Insurance? That’s a usual motive, isn’t it? Or more likely just plain old jealousy, wanting more attention on herself. I heard Sir Arthur’s been seen around town with a younger woman. She acts all upset, he comforts her...” She made a knowing face. “When we leave she’ll pull that watch out of its hidey hole and go about her business, but don’t think I won’t be looking for it around her neck next mystery weekend.”

  Peter placed his hand on my back reassuringly and murmured. “Let’s see how far our hostess wants to push this.” He stepped forward, any traces of the wounded Captain Egg gone, replaced by my in-control-at-all-times detective boyfriend.

  “Accusing someone of theft in real life is a serious accusation. Even petty theft can carry a penalty of up to six months in jail. Ar
e you sure you didn’t simply misplace the watch?”

  Sir Arthur’s face reddened and his eyes darted to the crowd. I had the distinct feeling he was looking at one person in particular, but I couldn’t say whom. “I’m sure that’s all that happened,” he sputtered. “My wife probably left it in her room.”

  Lady York, still holding center stage, turned to face her husband. “No, I did not. I know that for certain because Maid Ann made a point of asking me about it on more than one occasion. In fact, her veiled comments that it was not appropriate for my outfit are one reason I took the watch off.” She looked at me again.

  I took that as a challenge. I pulled back my linen runner, but remembering my outfit, stopped short of sticking out my chest. “I didn’t say it wasn’t appropriate, I said it wasn’t from the Jazz Age. It was obviously Victorian.” And so did not go with her dress. “Since the Jazz Age was later, someone could have chosen to wear it but it wouldn’t have been a ‘modern’ choice.”

  Feeling I’d made my point, I tossed my hair and took a slug of my martini.

  Peter gave me a sideways look and took the glass from my strangely wobbly fingers. “I think it’s time to call it a night.” He set the glass on the bar and, with his hand on my back, guided me toward the door.

  Giddy with my victory... I couldn’t remember for what... I leaned against him and giggled.

  Lady York wasn’t cowed. “Aren’t you going to...?”

  Peter stopped. “What?”

  “Investigate? Search everyone?”

  I could feel annoyance running through Peter’s body, like electricity humming through a wire. I put my hand on his chest and sighed. He glanced down at me and laughed.

  When he looked back up at Lady York, some of the humor was still there. “If you want to file a formal report, I suggest you call the local deputy sheriff. Maid Ann and I, however, are going to bed.”

  He handed me Kiska’s leash, and we walked out of the house.

  o0o

  I woke up the next morning to a malamute stretched out beside me and a 12-piece jazz ensemble blowing Dixie in my head.