by V. M. Burns
Lady Elizabeth waited and watched.
James glanced at Daphne sitting in the window seat. He strode across the room to her and reached down for her hand.
Daphne nodded, gave a brief smile that didn’t reach her eyes, extracted her hand, and returned to the view out the window.
Lady Elizabeth noted her niece’s cold greeting and added more warmth into her voice. “James, we’re all so glad you’ve arrived.”
Thompkins rolled in a tea trolley filled with tea, sandwiches, scones, and tarts. He rolled the cart be side Lady Elizabeth and bowed.
“Wonderful, Thompkins. Thank you,” Lady Elizabeth said to the retreating figure, then grabbed the silver teapot and poured. “James dear, would you like tea or perhaps you’d prefer something stronger?”
James accepted the teacup. “No, tea will be fine. Thank you.” He looked over at Daphne before taking a sip.
Once the tea was distributed, Lady Elizabeth turned to James. “Now, maybe you can tell us what you’ve gotten us into?”
He took a deep breath and placed his cup on the table. “First, I want to thank you for agreeing to host the duchess’s hunting party. We were at our wits’ end trying to figure out what to do.”
“Of course we’re happy to help out, but it seems so strange,” Lady Elizabeth said.
Lord James nodded. “I dare say it does.” He paused. “I appreciate your trust, but I’m afraid I must ask you to trust me a little longer.” He looked at Lady Daphne, who was engrossed in her cup of tea and didn’t make eye contact with him.
“Unfortunately, I can’t put forward an explana tion, at least not yet. I hope to be able to explain at some point, but I can’t right now. In fact, I must ask that you not even mention the fact I rung up to ask. It’s imperative the Duchess of Windsor not know I had any involvement in this. As far as she or anyone else outside the family is concerned, I’m merely an invited guest, a friend of the family.” James looked again at Daphne.
Lady Elizabeth stared in puzzled amazement. “But how can she not know? I mean, I’ve never even met Wallace before. Surely someone had to suggest Wickfield Lodge as an alternative location. I can’t be lieve she came up with the idea on her own.”
“Ah . . . that. Well, all I can say is someone the duchess respects suggested the location. The fact that you’re a favorite cousin of the king and could prove beneficial in smoothing the way with her royal relations was an additional enticement.” James smiled briefly. “However, I can’t stress enough how important this is.”
Lady Elizabeth looked to her husband, who puffed on his pipe and absentmindedly fed bits of his sandwich to Cuddles, sitting attentively at his feet.
James looked uncharacteristically nervous. The 15th Duke of Kingfordshire always exuded a casual, easygoing manner, common for young men of his station. A wealthy, privileged, aristocrat without a care in the world was the image he presented. However, closer inspection showed intelligence, a keen mind, a purposeful chin, and a determined jaw. If eyes were the window to the soul, then his soul showed a depth of conviction and courage.
Lady Elizabeth nodded her ascent.
“Dashed secretive.” Lord William looked from his wife to his niece. After a pause, he nodded.
Attention turned toward Daphne. Lady Daphne sat in her favorite seat in front of the large picture window that looked out onto the back terrace. Framed by the large window, she gazed outside. The sun shone through the window and illuminated her beauty with a brilliance that was dazzling. Golden hair and piercing blue eyes which sparkled like the sun on the ocean in the early summer. She was stunning. She turned her head toward James and lifted her long dark lashes. Her glacial gaze caused Lord James to gasp and Lady Elizabeth shivered involuntarily.
“What are you asking?” Her words hung in the air like a cloud of smoke.
Lady Elizabeth placed her teacup on the table and stood. “Darling, I think we need to have another talk with the servants.” She picked up the knitting bag she kept at her feet.
Lord William stared after his wife.
“Are you coming, dear? I really think we both need to talk to them.”
After a few moments, Lord William’s eyes regis tered the secret message his wife was sending and hoisted himself from the sofa, dislodging Cuddles, and followed his wife to the door, mumbling, “Servants, yes. Have to talk to the servants. Tricky business.”
“Wait,” Daphne said. “There’s no need for you both to leave. His Grace can’t have anything to say to me that can’t be said in front of both of you.”
His Grace looked as though he had a lot he’d like to say. However, he set down his teacup and walked to the seat next to Daphne.
Daphne turned to face him and an invisible veil immediately closed over her eyes and provided a bar rier to her thoughts.
“Daphne, I think you know I care about you deeply. The past few months have been rather busy and I apol ogize for not being more attentive. However, my feel ings are—”
“Oh, dear.” Daphne laughed. “I think you’ve mis taken me. I wasn’t asking you for a profession of love. We both know that would be phony.”
James snapped back as though he’d been slapped.
“I was merely asking how far you want to go with this charade you’ve arranged. Are you merely an old family friend, my brother in law’s dearest friend? Or are you supposed to mean something to the family.”
“Daphne.” Lady Elizabeth couldn’t stop the shock that registered in her voice.
Daphne looked innocently at her aunt. “I’m sorry if I shocked you, Aunt Elizabeth. I was merely trying to determine how much of an actress my part re quired.”
James’s eyes flashed and his jaw clenched. “I wouldn’t want to tax your acting ability. Let’s just say I’m a friend of the family.”
“Fine with me.” Daphne turned back to her window.
“Fine.” James stood and took his pipe from his pocket and moved to the mantle.
Lady Elizabeth and Lord William looked at the two young people and then quietly slipped out of the room.
Victor and Penelope walked the three miles from their home to join the family for dinner, which helped to remove some of the strain.
Daphne and James were excessively kind on the rare instances when they spoke to each other, which increased, rather than decreased, the tension. Daphne also showed a deep interest in all of the details of Penelope’s housekeeping dilemmas, even going so far as to offer to help interview maids. For his part, James remained in a daze. He was silent, only speak ing when spoken to. After dinner, the family retired to the back parlor for coffee.
Lady Elizabeth pulled out her knitting and looked around. She gazed at her niece Lady Penelope and smiled. After nearly four months of marriage, it was obvious the couple was blissfully happy. Victor had believed himself to be in love with the fair and beau tiful Daphne for most of his young life. Six months ago he’d realized Penelope was his heart’s true de sire. Lady Elizabeth glanced at her new nephew with fondness.
Victor sat in a chair in front of the fireplace with his legs outstretched, completely at home. He smoked while Lord William reminisced about his days in His Majesty’s service. Knowing glances were exchanged between Victor and James. Daphne retreated to her seat by the window and engrossed herself in a maga zine. However, Lady Elizabeth was sure she hadn’t seen her turn a page in nearly thirty minutes.
Penelope leaned toward her aunt and whispered, “What’s with the Ice Queen?” She inclined her head slightly toward her sister.
Lady Elizabeth sighed. “She’s hurt. I think she gen uinely cares for James.”
Penelope glanced across at her younger sister. The two young ladies were so different; a casual ob server wouldn’t have guessed they were sisters. Daphne was petite, fair skinned with blond hair and blue eyes; traits she inherited from her father, Peregrine Marsh. Penelope looked more like their mother, with dark hair and eyes. In the summer, if she wasn’t care ful, her skin tanned to a dark brown, very s
imilar to their mother, Lady Henrietta Pringle. The loving cou ple died in a car accident not long after Daphne was born. Lord William and Lady Elizabeth raised the two girls and couldn’t help looking upon them as the daughters they never had.
“I believe James genuinely cares for her too.” Penelope glanced at the duke. “What happened?”
Lady Elizabeth placed her knitting on her lap. “He hasn’t been around much in the past couple of months. Then he comes and, after arranging this elaborate weekend, he doesn’t confide in her what’s going on.”
“Maybe he can’t.”
Lady Elizabeth looked at her niece. “I was hoping he’d confided to Victor?”
Penelope shook her head. “If he has, Victor hasn’t said, but I’m sure he wouldn’t have asked you to do it if it wasn’t important. I’ve never seen his estate, but according to Victor, James’s family home makes Buckingham Palace look like a nice cottage. If it was just a matter of needing a large estate for the shoot ing, he certainly could have hosted it himself.”
“He doesn’t want anyone to know he is anything more than an invited guest, a family friend.” Lady Elizabeth frowned.
“What’s the matter? You seem upset.”
Lady Elizabeth knitted a few stitches. “I just have a very bad feeling about this whole thing. After see ing the guest list, I have to say, if anyone other than James had asked me to do this, I would most cer tainly have declined. Your uncle hates getting in volved in politics, and there’s been so much negative publicity about people like the Cliveden set in the pa pers that I’m worried.”
Penelope scowled. “The Cliveden set?”
“You know, dear, that group Lady Nancy Astor in vites to Cliveden House. The newspapers have been full of how they are trying to appease Hitler and, well, all kinds of things.”
“I’ve read about them, but I’m rather surprised you have.”
“One must stay up on current events.” Lady Elizabeth knitted. “It’s so distressing. I don’t know what’s worse. To think we could be so close to war again”—she stopped knitting and looked at her niece—“or to sit back and do nothing while Germany takes over Europe. If he’s left unchecked, he won’t stop at the Channel.”
Penelope reached across and patted her aunt’s hand. “I pray it doesn’t come to that. But, try not to worry. This is just a weekend shooting party and Victor and I’ll be here as much as possible. We’ll help in any way we can.”
Try as she might, Lady Elizabeth couldn’t shake off the feeling in the pit of her stomach of trouble ahead. She could tell she was upsetting her niece, so she smoothed the frown creasing her forehead and smiled. “Thank you, dear. I know it will be a tremen dous help.” She then turned to the others in the room. “Would anyone care for more coffee?”
Chapter 7
I’d always loved Wednesdays, especially when I was a teacher. My coworkers started the week looking forward to Friday and the weekend. That meant five whole days of classes and grading papers. If I focused on Wednesday, instead of Friday, the week went much faster. This Wednesday changed that forever. This Wednesday, Dawson submitted to a DNA check and then waited patiently for the police to arrest him, which they did.
I was determined to be strong and not permit myself to cry. I didn’t want to make things worse for him by breaking down. I was the last thing he needed to worry about. I closed the bookstore so Nana Jo and I could go to the police station with Dawson and Jenna.
First, Jenna took Dawson to the North Harbor Clinic, where he was escorted to a private room.
“Why are you having this done here? I thought the police took care of this,” I asked while we sat in the waiting room.
“The state lab is backlogged. It’ll take them at least six months before they get to us.”
“Wouldn’t that be better? I mean, they can’t arrest him without the DNA evidence, can they?”
“Oh, yes they can. Plus, I don’t want to take the chance the state loses or contaminates the sample. They have some good people, but they’re overworked, and when you’re overworked, mistakes happen. Besides, I work with this lab all the time. They’ll have the results back in a few hours.”
“But in six months, we will have figured out who the killer is.”
Jenna turned to face me. “Sam, murder is a felony. If Dawson is arrested for a felony, he’ll be suspended until his case is resolved. Trust me. I would prefer more time too, but ultimately the decision is his.”
He returned before we could discuss things further. The entire process took less than ten minutes.
I followed Jenna and Dawson to the police station and thought over what Jenna said. Six months wasn’t a long time, but faced with less than two weeks to find a killer, it seemed like an eternity. Football meant a lot to Dawson. It was the vehicle that enabled him to get away from his abusive father and to get a good education.
This time Nana Jo had her gun, but she stopped at the metal detectors and held up her carry permit. She also announced loudly she was packing an iPad in her purse. The police officer manning the metal detector remembered us from two days earlier and didn’t look amused. He looked through her purse carefully and handed back her wallet and purse and ushered us through. Our entry was unheralded and low-key.
Jenna notified Detective Pitt we were coming beforehand and he waited for us at the desk.
My sister was bossy, opinionated, and annoying. She was also hardworking, dedicated, and super organized. These skills came in handy as an attorney. To minimize the amount of time Dawson sat in a jail cell, she had reviewed the judge’s schedule and talked to the district attorney. Dawson was arrested, fingerprinted, photographed, and arraigned all before three. The bail bondsman was good to his word and waited for us at the courthouse. By three thirty, we were back at the bookstore. Dawson hadn’t slept well last night, so he made pie dough. Not my idea of fun, but to each his own.
Jenna, Nana Jo, Dawson, and I sat at one of the bistro tables in the back of the store, drank coffee, and ate apple pie à la mode, drizzled with salted caramel. It was a delicious muddled mixture of warm spicy comfort which almost buried my sadness. For several minutes, we sat and ate in silence. It was a glorious few minutes.
“That pie was great. You could enter a baking contest.” Nana Jo licked her spoon.
The tips of Dawson’s ears were red. He still got embarrassed when people complimented him, even though he loved to watch people enjoying his creations.
“What happens now?” I asked Jenna.
“Dawson’s officially suspended from school.”
“Looks like you’ll have plenty of time to bake.” Nana Jo patted his shoulder.
“Is there a way he can get his assignments?” I asked Jenna. “Nana Jo and I can tutor him so he doesn’t fall behind when he goes back in a couple of weeks.”
Jenna smiled at me. “That’s a great idea.”
Dawson looked misty eyed. He looked like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Eventually, he stared at his plate and mumbled, “Thank you.”
“So what are your plans for today?” Jenna asked.
“I’m going to the campus.” I looked at my watch. “I better get a move on.”
Jenna looked very serious. “Sam, I know I don’t have to tell you this, but there may be reporters there. It would be best if you leave all of the comments to the press to me.”
“Don’t worry. I have no intention of talking to anyone from the media.”
We both turned to stare at Nana Jo.
“What’re y’all looking at me for?” She looked indignant.
“Nana Jo, this is important. I—”
“I know. I know.” She zipped her lips and folded her arms over her chest.
Jenna sighed. “I’m not trying to insult you. I know you would never do or say anything to deliberately hurt Dawson or our case. But the media can turn your words inside out and before you know it, we’ve got a big media mess on our hands. We need all of the goodwill and public opinion we c
an get.”
At that moment, Jenna’s phone rang. While she was answering, Nana Jo got a text message. Then Dawson’s phone rang.
Jenna listened to the caller for a few seconds and then her face underwent a transformation. She went from relaxed to panicked in less than five seconds. “Turn on the television. Quick!”
I didn’t have a television downstairs in the bookstore, so we hurried upstairs.
At the top of the stairs, Jenna said, “Turn on the news.”
I grabbed the remote and turned to one of the local news stations. I couldn’t help but gasp at what I saw on the screen.
Standing atop the courthouse stairs was A-squared, Alex Alexander, Dawson’s father. There were at least three microphones shoved in his face. Greasy hair, dirty jeans I felt sure were once blue, and a faded-out, greasy shirt that read, BEAM ME UP, SCOTTY. THERE’S NO INTELLIGENT LIFE DOWN HERE.
“Turn it up,” Jenna demanded.
Nana Jo and I exchanged glances, but I complied. We’d run into Dawson’s father before when he broke into the bookstore. The last time I saw him, he was handcuffed and getting into the back of a police car.
“Police brutality and discrimination, that’s what this is. My boy didn’t kill that girl. The cops is trying to frame him. They don’t like it when a local boy gets a chance to make it outta this hellhole of a town. They just wanna push you back down,” A-squared ranted.
One of the reporters tried to steer the conversation into something more productive than the current tirade. “Mr. Alexander, there’s a lot of evidence against your son. How can you be so sure he didn’t kill her? Have you talked to him?”
“Nawh, I ain’t talked to him. I been in jail. Just got out. Don’t need to talk to him. I know he didn’t kill nobody, specially not that little tramp. Fine piece of [bleep]. But that’s all she was.” He made a hawking noise and then spit something brown on the ground.
I cringed, grateful the network sensors were working and bleeped out the foul language. This was a disaster, but try as I might, I couldn’t stop staring at the television. Just like a train wreck, I couldn’t turn away.