My eyes rounded on her. “You’ve attended one of these parties before?”
“Not to blow my own horn, dear, but I was something of a legend on the circuit back in the eighties.” She lowered her head, peering at me over the top of her rimless bifocals. “They used to call me The Beagle.”
My lips twitched. “But not anymore?”
“Goodness, no, my old bones don’t travel well anymore.” She sighed and broke off a tiny piece of roll. “When you presented the opportunity right here in my back yard, however, I couldn’t resist.”
“Well, I cannot wait to see The Beagle in action,” I said, chuckling softly. Miss Crawley was human after all. Without thinking, I buttered my roll and took a bite.
Miss Crawley’s mouth pulled down at the corners. “My dearest child, did your poor mother never teach you how to eat? The roll stays on the plate, always. A lady only ever tears off a small portion at a time.”
I nodded with an apologetic grimace, too busy choking on my mouthful of bread to defend my poor mother.
Despite my faux pas, the rest of the meal proceeded smoothly. Although I couldn’t help feeling like a spoilt princess while Mom slaved over a five course menu in the kitchen and Burns served and cleared.
We’d decided beforehand that, as hostess, I should take all meals with the guests. Be available for chatter and questions. And it would be too awkward if I stood up in between courses to help clear the table.
Still, we were understaffed and guilt pushed me to my feet when Burns brought in chocolate custard dumplings.
I excused myself from the table, reminding everyone that coffee would be served in the lounge once they’d finished their dessert, and fled to the kitchen.
As I’d suspected, Mom was elbow-deep in dishwater by the sink.
“I’ll do the dishes,” I said as I walked up.
She shook her head. “You should be out there, honey, entertaining your guests.”
“They seem to be doing an excellent job of entertaining themselves,” I assured her, taking her firmly by the shoulders and guiding her to a chair at the oak table. “Have you eaten?”
“Yes, and I made sure Burns ate something as well. The man’s been run off his feet.”
“I’m looking into temp agencies first thing Monday morning,” I said as I went to put the kettle on the stove for tea. “We’ll be more organized next time we have such a big party. You definitely need an extra hand here in the kitchen.”
“I was thinking of an apprentice,” Mom said. “Someone I could train as assistant chef.”
“Um…” I scratched my neck. My mom had a recent history of leap-frogging career ladders. In the space of about five minutes, she’d gone from housewife to our resident chef and I was still trying to cool her off the idea of opening her own Bistro with Dad’s pension money. “We may have to wait a while for that, see how consistent business is.”
Mom would never sit still while I worked, so I drank a cup of tea with her and packed her off home to Dad before I rolled up my sleeves to tackle the teetering stacks of pots and dishes.
Just when I thought I was done, Burns arrived with an overladen tray of dirty mugs and glasses. He was a portly man on the wrong side of middle-age, shiny bald and I’d never seen him wear anything but that funeral suit. He was also receptionist, housekeeper, butler, maid, cook, waiter, bartender…well, you name it, but I imagined he’d draw the line at scullery slave.
“Those are going into the dishwasher,” I told him.
He lifted a piece of fine-stemmed crystal up to the light. “If you insist, Ms Storm,” he murmured in his usual understated tone.
I glared at him. We had a somewhat tenuous relationship. He mostly tolerated me and I mostly despaired of him. “Why can’t you ever just come out and say what you mean?”
“Why do you always assume I mean more than what I say?” He set the tray down on the counter and tugged where his jacket had crawled up his rotund belly.
I growled at him as I rolled my sleeves up and ran a fresh sink of steaming water. I didn’t see Burns again until I was swabbing down the surfaces.
“The masses are thinning out,” he informed me, and true to his words, his tray only held two tumblers.
“Everyone’s retiring for the night?” I glanced at the wall clock, stunned to find it was eleven-thirty. Time sure flew when you were having fun.
“Mostly,” Burns said. “The Parkers are propping the bar up and—”
“Burns!” I exclaimed. “Did you just make a joke?”
He ignored me. “Ms Adams and Mr Sash are on the terrace.”
“Jenna and Mason?” Warning signals went off in my head. “Doing what, exactly, on the terrace?”
“I’m sure I have no idea,” Burns said, inhaling every second word.
“Guess!”
He gave me an exasperated look. “Not that was I was eavesdropping, but there may have been mention of a moonlit stroll by the lake.”
Oh, Jenna. I stood there, deliberating my next move. But Jack Spinner was no longer the scrawny stick of a boy who couldn’t stand up for himself and Jenna was…well, Jenna. She had a heart of gold, but she tended to be kind of careless when it came to men.
A piercing scream whipped my spine stiff. That had come… I turned slowly to the window I’d pushed open over the sink. “Outside!”
Burns was a step ahead of me, already unlatching the kitchen door.
I rushed after him into the warm spring night and slammed to a halt just before crashing into his back. No more screams. The lake glistened beneath the full moon, not a drop of wind to ripple the smooth surface. Across from us, Lakeview Spa Retreat was lit up like a fairy castle and they had a bonfire going on the shore, a crowd hanging around the outside bar.
“I don’t suppose it could have been them?” I said doubtfully.
“No, it was on this side.” Burns did not look happy. “We should split up and search.”
“That’s always a bad idea.” I put a finger to my lips, shushing him, then I heard it, another hiccupped cry from further up the shore.
I slipped off my five-inch heels and broke out into a run, almost certainly ruining the bottoms of my magical figure-shaping pants. And yes, that’s what I was thinking about as my feet pounded the muddy shore, past the shaded lighting of our terrace and on into the moonlit shadows way beyond the house.
I saw the body dangling from a gnarled branch like a life-size rag doll over the edge of the lake, then I saw Jenna wrapped in Mason’s arms and that’s when my lungs crashed and burned. I doubled over, panting hard.
Jenna and Mason.
Moonlit stroll by the lake.
Oh my God, that could have been Jenna.
I peered up at the body again, sucking in breaths of air. It wasn’t Jenna, but it could have been. She’d been out here alone—no, not alone, with Mason, but what if he was the—
“Ms Storm.” Burns’ large hand landed on my shoulder. “You’re not going to collapse, are you?”
I shook him off and straightened, pointed. “Burns, what…? Who?” My voice pitched. “Do you see that?”
“I’m afraid I do,” he sighed.
Jenna became aware of us and streaked out from Mason’s clutches to race up to me.
We hugged for a moment, then I pulled away to look at her. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I am now, but it was awful, Maddie,” she choked out. “We were just taking a walk and then I saw her, just hanging there…” She shuddered and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Who would do that to poor Lydia?”
“Lydia?” Blood buzzed between my ears. “Lydia Fieldman?”
“That’s right,” Mason answered as he approached.
This couldn’t be happening! How on earth had one of my guests ended up dangling from a tree?
“We should call this in,” Mason said, digging his phone out from the back pocket of his jeans.
“Jack?” I said, looking at Jenna.
“Yes, he’ll know what to
do.” She held her hand out for Mason’s phone and put the call through.
Movement caught my eye and I turned to see Jonas Mayer and Charles Sitter marching up to us, both in dressing robes. Charles’ outfit was topped off with a striped nightcap that tapered into a jangling pompom.
“We thought we heard a scream,” Jonas called out.
“Dear Lord,” Charles muttered loudly, his attention fixed on the body. “Is that Lydia?”
Burns and Mason joined them as they gathered beneath the tree and stared up at the lifeless woman.
“Jack, thank goodness!” Jenna spoke into the phone. “Someone’s dead. What? No, of course it’s not me. How could it be me? Do you think I’m calling from the other side?”
The weird conversation pulled me back around to face her.
She pressed the phone to her chest and gave me a droll look. “Why would I call Jack to tell him I’m dead? In what world does that make sense?”
“You’re due to die first thing in the morning,” I reminded her. “He probably thinks…you’re…joking…” My head was already spinning up the next horror as my eyes flashed to Lydia’s crooked neck, to the length of rope from which she dangled. “Jenna, that couldn’t possibly be our prop rope, could it?”
Jenna cursed and put the phone to her ear again. “Jack Spinner, there’s a very real dead woman hanging over the lake just north of Hollow House. Get your ass down here at once!” she hissed and promptly cut the call.
An off-key duet jerked us both around. It was the Parkers, arms wrapped around each, staggering two steps to the side for each step forward, thoroughly amused with themselves as they sang and giggled and made little progress along the bank of the lake.
They were somewhat intoxicated.
When I said as much to Jenna, she snorted. “They were intoxicated six shots of Tequila ago. One more shot and they’ll be a medical emergency.”
“At least they’re blissfully unaware,” I puffed out. “God, Jenna, this is such a mess. Another murder at Hollow House? One of my guests? I know it sounds crass, and I seriously do feel terrible about Lydia Fieldman, but this is going to sink us.”
Jenna patted my arm. “There’s always the advance for Joe’s next book. Can’t he write faster?”
I gave a dry laugh. “I’ll let you be the one to suggest that.”
A small light bobbed behind the Parker’s, rapidly closing in. Miss Crawley with a flashlight, leading a posse of what appeared to be the entire household, including Mr Hollow and Joe. Being last on the scene was not her usual style, but I soon realized the reason. She’d taken the time to dress in a skirt and blouse while mostly everyone else had just pulled a robe over their nightclothes.
Joe detoured our way while the others swarmed around the tree to inspect the curious incident of Lydia Fieldman’s unfortunate demise.
Once Joe had assured himself we were both fine, he crossed his arms and rocked back and forth on his feet, clearly itching to get closer to the action.
“Go ahead,” I sighed. “We don’t need a babysitter.”
“Nah, I shouldn’t,” he said wistfully.
“You’re right,” I said. “It’s kind of morbid.”
“Do you know what distinguishes a writer from a great writer?” Joe mused.
“A fine bottle of oak-aged single malt scotch,” Jenna muttered.
“Sacrifice,” Joe answered himself. “A great writer will suffer any atrocity in the name of authentic research.”
“Grow up, Joe,” Jenna ground out. “Either go ogle the corpse or don’t, but don’t expect us to give you permission.”
“Hey, okay.” Joe unfolded his arms and threw his hands up. “I was just deliberating out loud. No need to bite my head off about it.”
“You think that’s why I’m mad at you?” Jenna rounded on him, toe-to-toe, rearing at him like a rabid Pitbull on a short leash.
“Well, you’re definitely pissed off at me about something.”
Jenna balled her hand into a fist.
Joe never saw the right-hook coming. Neither did I, to be honest. Joe’s jaw snapped back, the impact sending him sprawling.
“Ouch!” Jenna winced, cradling her fist to her chest.
There was nothing funny about the moment. There really wasn’t. I swallowed the laugh threatening to erupt and instead said dryly, “Was that worth it?”
“Totally.” Jenna grinned at me. “I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks. You should try it.”
I glanced down at where Joe lay tangled in slimy reeds and long grass. At least he’d had a soft landing. “Maybe not right now.”
The level of conversation beneath the tree escalated suddenly, voices rising to be heard over each other. The Parkers, amazingly, had finally made it there as well and were quite happily shouting the loudest.
There was a petrified shriek.
Miss Crawley dropped into a dead faint, thankfully against Burns’ generously padded chest. He managed to hook her under the armpits before she slithered all the way to the ground.
I wasn’t too concerned by the frenzied commotion, since it just happened to coincide with Jack’s cruiser driving up the shoreline from Hollow House. Blue lights flashing. Engine whining as tires churned up more mud than miles. Headlights pinning the scene beneath the tree. It was all spectacularly dramatic and cause, I supposed, for some excitement.
“Freeze!” Jack’s voice boomed over the intercom system. “Nobody move!”
Everybody moved.
Burns lumbered toward me, dragging Miss Crawley awkwardly by the armpits. Ella Parker squealed and promptly belly-flopped into the shallows of the lake. Mostly everyone else, thankfully, descended on the cop car as it drew to a halt.
Meanwhile, I had bigger problems. Joe was still on the ground and he hadn’t moved. I nudged his hip with my toe. “Joe?”
Nothing.
“He’s out cold,” I told Jenna.
“For goodness sake, I barely tapped him.” She hunched over him and shook his shoulder roughly. “Joe! Hey!”
He stirred, grunted.
“There you go.” Jenna straightened and stepped over him. “He’ll be fine.”
I wasn’t entirely comfortable with just leaving Joe sprawled on the ground, but at least he wouldn’t be alone. Burns lowered Miss Crawley down beside him on a lush bed of reeds, took a moment to make sure her skirts covered her ankles, then he stood back to admire his handiwork.
“Burns?” I searched his face for signs of a cracked psyche, as if I’d actually know what that looked like. “Are you okay?”
“As well as can be expected, Ms Storm.” He smoothed his hands over his rumpled jacket and turned into a slow stroll back toward the others.
“What does he think this is?” Jenna complained. “A body dump?”
I had no words. “Do you think we should give Jack a hand?” I said instead.
He was flattened up against the door of his car, surrounded by the pressing mob.
“Help’s already on the way.” She waved a hand in the direction of Hollow House and sure enough, a vehicle that looked very much like Detective Nathanial Bishop’s truck coasted up the shoreline with a lot more ease than Jack’s cruiser.
“What the hell is Nate doing here?” I grumbled.
“Jack must have called in reinforcements.” Jenna looked me up and down. “What happened to your shoes? Never mind.” She tugged my top lower off one shoulder and tried to fluff my hair. “You’re a bit of a mess, but don’t worry, it looks good on you.”
“I’m not worried.” I jumped out of her reach and hitched my top up again. “This isn’t a date, Jenna.”
“I know,” she sighed. “Sometimes you just have to work with what you’ve got.”
I had a whole lot more to say to that, but I got distracted. Nate had pulled up behind Jack and was hopping down from the truck.
My pulse fluttered as my mind unhelpfully filled in the details not quite discernable from his moonlit silhouette. Okay, I wasn’t indiffer
ent to the guy, far from it. But I also wasn’t in a place right now to consider starting anything. And then there was the other thing, him walking out of my friendship offer and not bothering to pick up a phone since then.
Nate took charge of the situation, silencing my gaggle of guests and herding them to the side so he could gain access to Jack.
“ME and Forensic Unit’s on the way,” he informed Jack, his low baritone carrying in the sudden silent night. “Let’s get the scene taped and cordoned off.”
His gaze swept the area, lingered briefly in my direction, then focused on the others. “I’m sure you all appreciate the need to stand clear and let us do our job.” There was a long pause, then, “Were you all on some night walk when you came across the body?”
“No, I found her,” Mason piped up. “Well, Jenna and I did, and yeah, we were out on a stroll.”
“We heard the scream,” Charles offered.
“Miss Crawley was decent enough to wake us,” someone else said. “We came as quickly as possible.”
“Right.” Another long pause as Nate processed the information. “Well, the Forensic Unit will need to know who came into contact with the body or may have contaminated the scene.”
Every single person put their hand up.
Jack cleared his throat. “Um, they were all there, gathered beneath the tree, when I got here.”
Nate cursed.
I resisted the urge to point out that some of us had known better than to contaminate his scene. For now it was enough to smirk inwardly with the knowledge that, for once, I wasn’t the gnat in his investigation.
Charles stepped forward. “To be fair, we had no idea the woman was actually dead.”
“We thought we were supposed to be snooping around the body for evidence.”
“That’s what we came for, right?”
“I said something wasn’t right,” Julie Brown said in her nasal drawl. “No one can play perfectly dead that long.”
“After you pulled her shoe off and tickled her foot,” Jonas grunted. “And then we all realized the scene was real and not staged.”
The Butler Didn't Do It (A Maddox Storm Mystery Book 2) Page 3