Murder at Longbourn

by Tracy Kiely

  I gave a small laugh, trying to restore the early friendly atmosphere. “Yes,” I said, “but just how much of it is truth and how much is rank speculation is yet to be seen.” I stood up to leave. “Are you sure you don’t need me for anything else tonight?”

  “No,” said Aunt Winnie. “If I want anything, Peter can help me. Go and have a good time.”

  I kissed her good night and turned to leave.

  “Elizabeth?” she said.

  I turned.

  “Be careful.”

  I nodded and shut the door behind me.

  The restaurant that Daniel took me to had originally been a private residence but had been renovated to accommodate five separately themed dining areas on the main level. Our table was in the garden room, which was a study in brightly colored floral prints and hand-painted French antiques.

  We quickly got through the awkward first-date chatter—childhood memories, school experiences, and job histories—and fell into an easy rapport. Leaning over to pour me a glass of wine, Daniel said, “So tell me again how you used to draw pictures of naked men.”

  “It wasn’t like that.” I laughed. “It was for art class. You know, sketching the human form and all that.”

  “The buck-naked human form, you mean. Bit pervy, if you ask me. But don’t get me wrong, I like pervy.”

  “Didn’t you ever take art class in school?” I said in an attempt to regain control of the conversation.

  “Sure. We covered all the basics—crayon, finger paints. I just don’t recall the naked people. To be honest, I feel a bit cheated.”

  “I’m sure you’ll survive,” I said, sipping my wine.

  “I suppose,” he said. “So I take it that you decided to nix a career as an artist?”

  “Yes. Unfortunately, my sketches looked as if they’d been done by someone more comfortable with finger painting. And how about you? How did you land in investment banking?”

  “I like money,” he said frankly. “I never seemed to have a knack for my own, mind you, but I knew a lot of people who had loads of it. Those contacts made me a perfect fit for the firm. That’s actually how I met Lauren. She was a client.”

  “Really?” I said, trying not to sound too interested. “I didn’t know Lauren had lived in England.”

  “Well, it was a long time ago. She came over to do some modeling. It never really took off, but she did. She became quite popular with a certain set. That’s how she met her first husband. He was a mate of mine.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, James was a bit of a bounder. He made a beeline for Lauren the first moment he saw her. They had a great time together for a while, but then Lauren found out she was pregnant. She was happy about it. I think she had the naïve idea that James would settle down into domestic bliss with her and the baby, but that just wasn’t in James’s nature. He married her, of course, but once the baby was born he quietly divorced her.”

  “That’s terrible,” I said, aghast.

  “Yes. His family made sure she received a decent settlement, and then they basically washed their hands of her and Jamie.”

  “Did they know that Jamie had … ?” I faltered.

  “Problems?” Daniel finished for me. “No. Jamie’s fine. His only real problem is that he’s a delinquent.”

  “But you said …”

  “I know,” said Daniel with a small smile. “That he has ‘special needs.’ I only said that to throw Jackie off the scent. Lauren has a hard enough time without word getting out about Jamie. He’s not a bad kid, actually, most of the time. What he really needs is a swift kick in the ass. Or a dad.”

  “Doesn’t his father have any contact with him?”

  “No. James died in a car accident a few years back. But he wasn’t much of a father even before that.”

  “What about James’s parents?”

  “Clive and Anne?” He scoffed. “They’ve never even seen Jamie. I think they convinced themselves that Jamie wasn’t James’s son to begin with.”

  “How sad,” I said. “Poor Lauren.”

  “Yes,” agreed Daniel. “It hasn’t been easy for her. I made sure that she invested her money wisely, but it was still a struggle for her.”

  “And then Gerald came along.”

  Daniel nodded. “And then Gerald came along,” he repeated. “I think she did care for him at first. Gerald could be charming when it suited him, and Lauren’s instincts with men aren’t exactly what you’d call razor sharp. By the time she realized what a bastard he really was, it was too late. But she was determined to stick it out for Jamie’s sake. She’d do anything for that boy—she completely dotes on him. With Gerald’s money, she was able to get Jamie into one of those treatment centers for wayward boys. And she’s convinced that he’s making progress.”

  “I gather Gerald would never have considered moving so she could be closer to Jamie.”

  “Are you kidding?” Daniel scoffed. “He’d never have left here. He was too intent on buying up all the land he could—like your aunt’s inn. He was incandescent with rage at losing that place.”

  “So I gather,” I said. “And now he’s dead.”

  “And now he’s dead.” Daniel nodded. In a solemn voice he recited from Sir Walter Scott, “ ‘The wretch, concentred all in self, living, shall forfeit fair renown. And doubly dying, shall go down to the vile dust from whence he sprung, unwept, unhonour’d and unsung.’ ” After a brief pause, he added, “More wine?”

  By the time we pulled into the inn’s driveway, I was feeling rather floaty. It might have been the wine, or it might have been the way Daniel kept looking at me. I really didn’t care what the reason was—I just didn’t want it to end. Turning off the ignition, Daniel turned in his seat to face me.

  “Thank you again for asking me to dinner, Daniel.”

  “No, thank you.” He leaned in close to me. Cupping my face in his hand, he stroked my cheek lightly with his thumb. My heart jerked into a pounding rhythm. “You’ve done me quite a service. This is something I could get used to,” he said softly, before kissing me.

  I returned his kiss, but part of me blanched at his words. How had I been a service? Peter’s and Aunt Winnie’s intimations reverberated in my head. Was that the reason behind tonight—to fortify his “just friends” story with Lauren? Putting my hand on his chest, I lightly pushed him away.

  “Elizabeth? What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. Something you just said. What do you mean, I did you a service tonight?”

  “By going to dinner with me,” he said. “I enjoyed your company. I think we go well together. I like the idea of being with you. Why? What did you think I meant?”

  I couldn’t ask for a nicer answer, but something deep inside me wasn’t buying it. After all, we didn’t know each other that well. A few flirtatious conversations and one dinner generally didn’t provoke such a serious reaction in men like Daniel—at least not with women like me.

  “I don’t know,” I said. He leaned toward me. “Wait.” I put my hand on his chest again. “Daniel,” I said slowly, unsure how to phrase my question, “I don’t know how to ask you this, but are you and Lauren … ?”

  He immediately stopped trying to kiss me. “Are Lauren and I what?” he asked, with an edge to his voice.

  Blushing, I averted my face from him. “More than friends,” I said, my voice small. I hated having to ask, but I had to know.

  Daniel leaned back, his eyes dark with annoyance. “Why would I be here with you if that were the case?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just that there’s been a lot of speculation about you and Lauren, especially since Gerald was murdered. Everything is moving so fast. We don’t know each other very well, and I … well, I …”

  “I realize that we don’t know each other very well,” he said, “but I thought that was the point of dinner—to get to know each other better.”

  My face burned with embarrassment. “I know, but …” I began lamely.

>   “Is that why you went out to dinner with me tonight? To see what you could find out about me? About Lauren?”

  “No! But just now, I wondered.”

  “You suddenly wondered if Lauren and I are more than friends.” He frowned. “And if we are, what would be the point of my seeing you? To throw off suspicion about my relationship with Lauren?”

  “Something like that.” Hearing it voiced out loud rendered the whole thing silly and melodramatic, but nevertheless I noticed that he hadn’t answered my question.

  Daniel reached into his jacket pocket and took out a cigarette. As he lit it, I noticed that his fingers shook slightly. He inhaled deeply before continuing. I watched the smoke curling out into long, wispy tendrils. “I like you, Elizabeth,” he finally said slowly, choosing his words with care, “but this isn’t a good way to start a relationship—with suspicions and insecurities.”

  “I’m sorry, Daniel.” I lowered my voice. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Everything has been so crazy the past couple of days. I can’t tell which end is up anymore. The police think that Aunt Winnie might have had something to do with Gerald’s murder, and I can’t let them think that.”

  “So what are you doing? Playing girl detective to get her off the hook?”

  His words stung. “I’m trying to find out what I can. And if it helps Aunt Winnie, then all the better. There’s a lot going on here that doesn’t make sense. I’m just trying to make sense of it.”

  “What doesn’t make sense?” he asked sharply.

  I opened my mouth to answer but realized there was nothing I could tell him. Daniel watched me closely, and I suddenly was aware of what a stupid position I had put myself in. I was alone in a car, in the dark, with a man I really didn’t know, who had an excellent reason for killing Gerald Ramsey. I inched backward toward the door. Daniel saw the movement and frowned. “What doesn’t make sense?” he repeated.

  “I’d really rather not say,” I said. “I think we probably should go inside.”

  “I agree. But before we do, I think I should tell you—if you’re trying to play sleuth here—stay away from Lauren and Polly. They had nothing to do with Gerald’s murder. And I will not let them be dragged through the mud just so you can divert attention from your aunt.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing!”

  “The hell it isn’t,” he said, yanking his key out of the ignition. He glared at me, his pupils cold black dots. The inside of the car seemed to shrink. What had minutes ago been a cozy atmosphere was now decidedly claustrophobic. He leaned toward me and said in a low voice, “Leave Lauren and Polly alone.”

  I was too startled to answer. His blue eyes watched me with a guarded expression. Rolling down the window, he threw out his cigarette butt. A blast of cold air rushed in, but its chill was nothing compared to the arctic atmosphere between us. He took a deep breath and forced a smile back onto his face. “What are we doing here, anyway?” he said. “Arguing about nothing. All I’m saying is that Lauren and Polly are my friends, and I don’t want to see them hurt. Just as you don’t want to see your aunt hurt. And to be honest, I’m worried about you.”

  “About me? But why?”

  He shrugged slightly. “Call it a gut feeling. A man was murdered here, after all. If word gets out that you’re poking around, you could be in danger. You know what they say about curiosity killing the cat.” He tipped my chin up with his fingers as he said this. “Just be careful, okay?”

  I could only nod my head in agreement.

  Once inside, he bade me a chaste good night in the foyer. As he disappeared up the stairs, I wondered about his bringing up curiosity killing the cat. Was it a well-intended warning or a veiled threat? The thought of cats made me think of Lady Catherine and the dining room. Every night since I’d arrived, it had been the scene of one kind of nocturnal event or another. I wandered over to see if tonight would be any different. Cautiously peeking into the dark room, I was relieved to find it empty. Just as I turned around to go upstairs, a puff of cold air brushed my face. I peered toward the back of the room. Was the door to the garden open?

  Quietly, I crept across the room to the door. It was indeed open a crack. I peered out into the backyard. It was dark and still. Thinking that the door had been left open by mistake, I reached out my hand to pull it shut. As I did, the small red ember of a cigarette cut the darkness outside.

  My breath caught in my throat. Who was out there? I was debating calling out when the clouds shifted, releasing a bright beam of moonlight onto the form of Henry Anderson.

  He was sitting on the bench, seemingly lost in thought and staring intently at his feet. He stood up and flicked the cigarette out into the snow, the ember arcing a fiery red against the black sky. Joan had told me that Henry hated smoking and that’s why she’d been forced to sneak her cigarettes. Yet here was Henry smoking away. Clearly, someone was lying, but who? Henry stood for several minutes with his back to me. What was he doing? Could he be hiding something? Finally, he turned around and rapidly made his way toward the house.

  I had just hidden myself in Aunt Winnie’s office when he quietly slunk into the foyer. Pressed against the backside of the door, I watched through the crack as he slowly climbed upstairs.

  I heard his door upstairs softly open and shut, but I forced myself to count to one hundred before leaving the office. I ran through the dining room and out the back door. The snow crunched under my feet as I crossed the yard. When I reached the bench where he’d sat, I looked around, for what I don’t know. Then I saw the bird feeder. Could he have hidden something in it? I stuck my hand through the opening and felt around. My fingers touched something hard and round, and my heart began to pound with excitement. Grasping the item, I yanked it free from the bird feeder. I held my breath as I opened my hand. I was holding a cluster of acorns. With a snort of disgust, I threw the nuts to the ground. What the hell was the matter with me? I was turning into Catherine Morland in Northanger Abbey, seeing intrigue and deception at every turn. Who the hell would hide something in a bird feeder, anyway? Embarrassed, I walked back to the inn with my head low.

  I was just nearing the door when a glint of silver, half buried in the snow, caught my eye. I picked it up.

  It was a simple silver pendant. I flipped it over. On the back were three initials. V.A.B.

  Who the hell was V.A.B.?

  CHAPTER 15

  Some people develop eye strain looking for trouble.

  —ANONYMOUS

  I DON’T KNOW how long I stood there, staring at the necklace. Eventually I realized that my fingers were numb with cold and I was shivering. Behind me a twig snapped. Whirling around, I searched the inky darkness. I couldn’t see anything, but I felt the vulnerability of my position. My skin prickled with the uneasy sensation that I was being watched from behind one of the windows that ran along the back of the inn. With my heart pounding in my ears, I glanced up at the dark casements and ran for the house. My stumbling footsteps on the ice-covered snow sounded like rapid gunfire.

  Back inside the dining room, I fumbled with the latch. When I finally secured it, I sagged against the wall. Rubbing my hands together for warmth, I wondered if the necklace could be a clue to Gerald’s murder. The initials didn’t belong to anyone staying at the inn—that is, if the owner was under her real name.

  I crept up the stairs, desperate not to make any noise. Turning the corner, I was surprised to see a line of light spilling out from under Peter’s door. Wondering why he was up at this hour, I moved toward his room and gave the door a light tap with my knuckle. Almost instantly it was flung open. Shock registered on Peter’s face when he saw me. “Elizabeth!” he said. “I didn’t hear you get back. What’s going on?”

  “Can I come in?” I whispered, glancing behind me down the dark hallway.

  “Of course.” He stepped aside. “Is everything okay? Did Daniel do something?”

  “No, Daniel didn’t do anything,” I snapped, pushing past him into the room.

/>   “Then what’s going on?” he asked. Surveying the room, I saw that the bed was still made; there weren’t even indentations in its brightly colored patchwork quilt. An open book lay on the seat of a rocking chair by the floor lamp. I looked at Peter. He was wearing the same jeans and sweater he had had on earlier.

  “What are you still doing up?” I asked, suddenly suspicious.

  “Nothing,” he mumbled. “I … couldn’t sleep, so I was reading.” He had obvious trouble meeting my eyes.

  I stared at him. “In a chair? Fully dressed? Across the room from the bed?”

  “Um … yeah,” Peter said feebly.

  Realization dawned. “Oh, my God! Were you waiting up for me?”

  He still refused to meet my eyes. Stuffing his thumb into his belt loop, he mumbled, “Something like that.”

  “Are you kidding me? Why?”

  Peter closed his eyes and ground his teeth before answering. “Because I was worried, all right? I know you like Daniel, but I don’t. I don’t trust him. Aunt Winnie wanted to do it herself, but I talked her out of it. She’s tired enough as it is.”

  I didn’t say anything. I was torn between hugging him and throwing something at him.

  “Well, you needn’t have bothered,” I said after a minute. “I’m fine.”

  “Then what’s going on? Why are you here?”

  I pulled the necklace out of my pocket and told him what had happened. I did, however, gloss over the part where I frisked the bird feeder.

  Peter perched on the edge of the bed. “What do you think it means?”

  “I don’t know.” I took a seat in the rocking chair. “Whose necklace could it be? I don’t see how this connects to Gerald’s murder, but it’s got to.”

  “It might. I think you should tell Detective Stewart.”

  “Oh, I will,” I said. “I can’t wait to point him to a clue that has nothing to do with Aunt Winnie.” I pushed back in the rocking chair. The resulting creak from the wood sounded like a supernatural shriek. I stopped moving.

  “Do you want me to drive you to the police station tomorrow?”