Read Herring Hunt

by V. M. Burns

  “Don’t think about that. We have to stay focused. Now, Sherlock, what have you learned?”

  I smiled. “Well, Watson, I didn’t find out much.” I told Nana Jo what I learned from Dorothy’s granddaughter, such as it was.

  “Let’s recap what we do know. It might help to get your ‘little gray cells’ working.”

  Nana Jo loved mysteries as much as I did, so I knew she knew the “little gray cells” were a reference to Hercule Poirot and not Sherlock Holmes. So, I didn’t correct her.

  “We know Melody was a con artist, and I don’t believe leopards ever change their spots. Once a con artist, always a con artist.”

  “You think she was playing a con on Dawson?”

  “Yep. I think she planned to get that boy to marry her. I’ll bet you my last plug nickel when she looked at him all she saw was dollar signs. That whole penthouse thing was just the start.”

  “But why?”

  “To get him away from us.”

  I stared. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s what cults do. They have to get their victims away from friends and family so they can start the brainwashing.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “There was a lecture at the Village a month or so ago about the House of David. Ruby Mae and I went. It was pretty interesting stuff. I even bought a book on them since they were local.”

  Nana Jo and I talked for a while, until she said she needed her beauty rest if she was going out sleuthing tomorrow. I delivered Dorothy’s message and she went off to bed.

  I was still pretty alert from the coffee and decided writing might help to organize my thoughts.

  Thompkins was kept busy greeting the guests and showing them to their rooms. Lord Charles and Abigail Chitterly were the first to arrive at ten on Thursday morning. Lord Charles was a portly man with thinning hair who was known for a hardy appetite for wine, women, and rich foods. His wife was a mousy American whose only distinctive feature seemed to be her af fection for jewelry. She looked like a walking jewelry advertisement, wearing rubies, emeralds, and dia monds in every shape and size. They were followed by the Polish ambassador, Józef Lipski, a short, thin man with weak eyes, large spectacles, and a stam mer. The French ambassador, Georges Brasseur, an arrogant, hawk nosed man was next. Thompkins showed both gentlemen to their rooms as the foot men, Jim and Frank, took care of the luggage.

  The German emissary, Count Rudolph Heigel, was tall, with slightly thinning blond hair and vacant blue eyes. He was a bit of a dandy, with immaculate atten tion to attire. He was a model of Aryan fervor who wore his role as an aide to the German secretary of state, Joachim von Ribbentrop, like a medal. Geoffrey Fordham Baker, editor of the London Times was one of the last to arrive. Fordham Baker was the fourth son of Henry Fordham Baker, 2nd Viscount of Lampton. Short, fat, and bald, Fordham Baker dressed in a slovenly manner and left a trail of crumbs in his wake. Cuddles followed him like a living Hoover, cleaning up the trail. Thompkins escorted each of the guests to their room and made sure everyone knew what time lunch would be served.

  Since no one was exactly sure when the entire party would arrive, lunch was a cold buffet, allowing guests to eat whenever they arrived. This made serv ing a lot easier for the staff and Thompkins was able to keep an eye on the guests, without maintaining a constant presence in the dining room. Additional staff would arrive later once everyone arrived. The Marsh family wasn’t on intimate footing with any of the early arrivals but did their best to make their guests as comfortable and welcome as possible.

  Thompkins was grateful for the extra staff in the evening. Wallis, the Duchess of Windsor, arrived with her maid, Rebecca, and an American socialite, Virginia Hall, an hour before dinner. Rebecca was a dark haired, dark eyed vixen, who winked, smiled, and flirted with every male she encountered. Similar to Wallis, she was tall and slender but was curvaceous in areas where Wallis was not. The duchess had a vast amount of luggage, which required two extra footmen and the maid to organize. Virginia Hall was much more interesting, with less baggage. She was an intelligent, well spoken woman with an infectious laugh, thick dark hair, light green eyes, and a wooden leg. She spoke freely about her accident as Thompkins showed her to her room. A hunting accident in Turkey required the amputation of her left leg from the knee down. Despite the wooden appendage, she exuded an air of confidence and determination.

  Lady Elizabeth held dinner, to allow the duchess time to freshen up and change. It was, therefore, after nine when the party sat down to eat. Chitterly and Fordham Baker were well on their way toward intoxication before they tasted their first bite of din ner. Fordham Baker made an indelible impression on Thompkins by requesting to have his port glass filled while the duck consommé was served. Thompkins halted momentarily but quickly recovered. A glance to Lady Elizabeth was acknowledged by a slight nod, and Thompkins was back to his stiff, proper self.

  Wallis, the Duchess of Windsor, was neither beauti ful nor brilliant, yet she carried herself in a way that made people almost believe she was. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe bun at the nape of her neck and emphasized her gaunt frame. She barely ate more than a few spoonfuls of the delightful dishes Mrs. Anderson prepared, despite the hours Lady Elizabeth and the cook spent planning a menu that was satisfying to men who’d spent the day shooting and a woman reported to be overly conscious of her weight. Wallis had a raspy voice and a loud, obnox ious laugh. She flirted shamelessly with Victor, Count Rudolph, or Count Rudy, as she called him, and Brasseur.

  After dinner, the group retired to the parlor for coffee. Lady Elizabeth knitted and watched the spec tacle. Lord William had been attempting to engage Geoffrey Fordham Baker in conversation, but the ed itor had fallen asleep while nibbling on a biscuit. Cuddles, who had just finished consuming crumbs from the cuff of his pants, attempted to climb into his lap to gain access to the biscuit. Thankfully, Lord William caught him and removed him from the room and further temptation.

  Lady Abigail had taken a seat near Lady Penelope and was pretending to ignore her husband’s attention toward Daphne.

  Daphne looked a bit strained as she removed Lord Charles’s hand from her knee for the third time by Lady Elizabeth’s count.

  Virginia Hall and Lord James laughed and talked amiably with the Polish ambassador, Józef Lipski.

  Wallis, Count Rudolph, and Brasseur were huddled in a corner near the fireplace. A word of French occasionally escaped the confines of their circle and was quickly followed by a laugh or wink from the duchess. The conversation was obviously meant to be private and no one ventured into their circle. Victor stood nearby but didn’t attempt to infiltrate their conclave.

  Thompkins silently entered the parlor and hurried to Lady Elizabeth. He whispered in her ear. She paused for a second but quickly nodded.

  Thompkins left and, after a brief pause, he opened the door again and announced, “Miss Rebecca Minot.”

  Thompkins stepped aside and in waltzed a slender raven-haired beauty that appeared to have just stepped off the screen of a Hollywood picture.

  The maid smiled large as she entered the room. “Ah, I am sorry for zee lateness. Zee butler he is so . . . how do you say”—she paused—“he is very proper.” She stood very straight and stiff in a pose to impersonate Thompkins. She laughed. “He must get zee permission for me to come. Ah . . . but I am here now.”

  Rebecca sauntered over to the duchess.

  “Yes, Rebecca, you’re here now. That’s all that matters. I couldn’t entertain all of these handsome men without you here to help me.” The duchess glanced at Lady Elizabeth. “You don’t mind that I invited Rebecca to join us, do you? She’s more like a companion than a maid, anyway.”

  Lady Elizabeth smiled. “Of course I don’t mind.” “I knew you’d understand. You’re not the least bit stuffy and stuck-up like Cookie, your cousin.” She tilted her head back and used a finger to push her nose up in the air. Then she looked down her nose and sniffed.

  Rebecca and Wall
is laughed.

  Lord William blustered. He looked as though he wanted to speak but eventually pulled out his pipe and filled it with tobacco, dropping most of it on the carpet.

  Lady Elizabeth couldn’t hide her confusion. “Cookie?”

  Wallis laughed. “That’s what I call her. Elizabeth looks just like a Scotch cook.”

  Lady Elizabeth took a few deep breaths to calm herself. “No. I can’t say that she does. I have always found Her Royal Highness to be elegant, graceful, and refined.”

  “I daresay we British must seem very silly to outsiders, but thousands of years of tradition are hard to forego.” Daphne smiled. “Did you really find Her Royal Highness stuffy and stuck-up? That’s odd. I’ve never thought so. But then, she has made quite a few changes over the past year. I’m sure as she acclimates to her new position, she’ll adapt.”

  Victor nearly choked on his drink, and Penelope had to walk over and pat him on the back. “I’m fine now. Thank you, dear.”

  A brief flash in her eyes and flared nostrils were the only indication Wallis recognized the snub. She quickly recovered and gave a hollow laugh before pulling Rebecca over to join the French and German contingent.

  James looked at Daphne with pride and respect in his eyes before returning to his conversation with Virginia Hall and the Polish ambassador.

  “It’s very dull here. How about zee music and dancing?” Rebecca shimmied, which gained her the attention of Lord Charles and several other men.

  Victor flipped the switch for the wireless and tuned into the Seager’s Good Mixers program featuring Oscar Rabin and his Romany band. Rebecca pulled Lord Charles to the center of the floor, where she tried to teach him the Lambeth Walk.

  “Come on, dance with me, Rudy?” Wallis turned to the count.

  Rudolph Heigel’s face was extremely red. His eyes bulged and he stood very erect. “I will not defile myself with such things.”

  The duchess looked confused. “But you dance so well.” She turned toward the others. “Rudolph used to be in pictures. He was an actor before he joined the military.” She looked at the count. “What’s the matter?”

  “Oscar Rabin is a Jew,” he spat.

  Lord William’s face turned beet red, and he sputtered, “Abominable manners. Rude. Raised in a barn.”

  Lady Elizabeth managed to relay her displeasure in a single withering glance, which sent a flush up Count Rudolph’s neck and made his ears look like beacons. A contrite look crossed his face briefly before he turned away toward Wallis.

  Józef Lipski watched near the fireplace. When he heard Count Rudolph’s comments, his face grew red. He breathed heavily and clenched his hands into fists. The look in his eyes was one of murderous rage. He started toward Count Rudolph but was intercepted by Virginia Hall.

  “Come on and dance with me and Cuthbert.”

  Józef Lipski halted. He looked puzzled. “Cuthbert?”

  “That’s what I call my constant companion.” She patted her wooden leg. “Cuthbert isn’t the best of dancers, but I think we can manage a slow twirl if you won’t mind.”

  Lipski gave Count Rudolph a scowl then turned his attention to Virginia. “I would be honored.” He bowed and the two of them swayed to the music.

  Daphne looked relieved when Lord Charles abandoned her for the maid’s company. For several minutes, she sat comfortably, without having to dodge unwanted hands.

  Lady Elizabeth strolled over to her niece. A few seconds later, Penelope joined her sister in the seat vacated by Lord Charles, leaned over, and whispered, “Well done.”

  Daphne smiled. “Thanks, but I doubt she even noticed the snub.”

  Lady Elizabeth smiled. “Trust me. I’ve heard she and David are livid over being denied the title of ‘Her Royal Highness.’ She noticed.” She raised her cup in salute. “Nicely done.”

  Daphne looked around. “This all seems like such a bizarre farce.”

  “What do you mean, dear?” Lady Elizabeth asked.

  “The world is on the brink of another war. Representatives from all of the nations currently in conflict are assembled at one house, our house.” She inclined her head toward Count Rudolph. “Twenty years ago all of the nations represented here were at war. Now here we all sit, dancing, drinking, and making merry.”

  Penelope looked at her sister with surprise. “I never knew you were concerned with foreign af fairs.”

  Daphne smiled. “Surprised I care about more than my clothes and hair?”

  “Well, honestly, yes.”

  “I admit I’ve been pretty self absorbed and shal low, but things are different now.” She glanced across the room at James. “There’s a lot at stake, not just for England, but for the world. I sure hope James knows what he’s doing.”

  Lady Elizabeth stared at her niece. “So do I, dear. So do I.”

  Chapter 9

  Coffee late at night, combined with too many hours spent writing into the wee small hours of the morning, left me sleep deprived and cranky Thursday morning. Not even the smell of bacon soothed the savage beast. I sat at the bar and drank three cups of coffee before I even spoke to anyone. It was the safest plan. That way, no one got hurt.

  Dawson hadn’t baked anything, which left me unreasonably irritated. He didn’t have to bake every day. There were plenty of treats for the customers, even though we weren’t charging for them. I hadn’t bothered to get the certificate from the Health Department to allow us to sell food, but no permit was needed to simply offer them and leave a container for donations.

  “You better now?” Nana Jo asked after I finished my third cup of coffee and started to eat my bacon sandwich.

  “Hmmm,” I mumbled.

  “Good. Jenna called. She’ll be here any minute.”

  Right on cue, the doorbell rang. Snickers and Oreo were momentarily torn between heading downstairs to bark at the newcomer and waiting for bacon to fall to the floor.

  “I’ll go.” Dawson grabbed two biscuits from the jar on the counter and headed downstairs.

  The poodles followed the biscuits downstairs.

  Dawson let Jenna in and took the dogs out.

  Jenna joined us upstairs. She had a cup of tea from one of those high-priced coffee shops that had sprung up all over town and a white box. She hopped onto the seat next to me and grabbed a piece of bacon from my plate.

  “Ten minutes ago, that move might have cost you a limb,” I growled.

  “What’s wrong with her?” she asked Nana Jo.

  Nana Jo shrugged. “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

  “I wish you would stop talking about me like I’m not here.” Maybe three cups of coffee weren’t enough. I poured myself another one and pretended I didn’t see the looks Nana Jo and Jenna exchanged.

  Dawson and the poodles made their way back upstairs.

  “So, I’ve had some time to think about how we should proceed after the unfortunate events of yesterday.” Jenna smiled at me and slid the box toward me.

  I knew my sister. If she brought me treats, she was working herself up to say something I wouldn’t like.

  I stared at the box pointedly for several seconds and then looked at my sister and raised an eyebrow.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  “Beware of geeks bearing gifts,” I said.

  “It’s Greeks, not geeks.” Jenna wasn’t always the brightest bulb in the pack, but she eventually got the joke and groaned. “Just open the box.”

  I opened the box, which contained half a dozen strawberry tarts from my favorite bakery, A Taste of Switzerland. The tarts glistened with a sugary glaze under the lights in my kitchen, and I swore I heard them whisper my name.

  Nana Jo reached in and grabbed a tart. “Hmmm. This must be a biggie if you’re softening the blow with ten dollar pastries.”

  A Taste of Switzerland’s pastries weren’t quite ten dollars each, but they were pricey. I wanted to be strong and hold out until I heard what Jenna was leading up to, but after Dawson
and Jenna each grabbed tarts, there were only three lonely looking tarts left in the box. My willpower fled. I grabbed one. I bit into the flaky crust and my eyes rolled back into my head as the sugary goodness seeped through my body. I might have moaned because I heard laughter and when I opened my eyes, Nana Jo, Dawson, and Jenna were all staring at me with silly grins on their faces.

  “Shut up.” I licked the gooey strawberry filling off my fingers.

  “I guess that must have done the trick,” Nana Jo said.

  “I know my sister.” Jenna wiped her hands on a napkin.

  “Alright.” I wiped my mouth and took a swig of my coffee, swishing it around in my mouth to make sure every delicious crumb made its way to my stomach. “What do you want?”

  “I want to use the media to our advantage. I’d like to invite some of the media here to the bookstore and have them interview Dawson. I want them to see he’s nothing like his dad. He isn’t a killer. He’s just a kind, honest kid who plays football, bakes, works hard, and goes to school.”

  “I thought you didn’t want us talking to the media?” I tried to avoid sounding whiney and deliberately flattened the scowl I felt developing on my forehead.

  “Yeah, well, that was before Dawson’s dad went on television and in one fell swoop insulted the police, the victim, and all women everywhere.” She looked at Dawson. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” he mumbled.

  “Here’s what I want. One of Tony’s fraternity buddies is the producer for WJMU. He’s agreed to an exclusive interview. I get to see all of the questions in advance and I’ll be right there the whole time. I can pull the plug if he goes off script and, trust me, I will.”

  Dawson looked uncertain. “I don’t know . . .”

  “You can’t be shy. You’ve done interviews after football games. It’ll be just like that.”

  “After a game, I talk about football. I can talk football all day. What am I gonna say to this guy?”

  “You’ll tell him about growing up without your mom and how you were raised by an abusive, alcoholic father.”