by Tracy Kiely
“Jesus!” said Peter. I gathered I didn’t sparkle. He stared at me, mouth open. A forgotten wooden spoon in his hand dripped batter onto the floor.
“Honey?” said Aunt Winnie, coming toward me. “Are you okay? You look terrible.”
“Headache,” I mumbled.
“Oh, sweetie,” she said, rubbing her hand lightly up and down my arm. “I forgot how this kind of weather affects you. No wonder you feel rotten—they’re predicting quite a storm. Here, have a seat.” She gently guided me to one of the toile-covered chairs. The cheerful pattern seemed suddenly garish and loud.
I glanced out the kitchen window. The sky was dark and heavy with low, fat clouds. Paring my speech down to the essentials, I asked, “When?” Aspirin helped some, but the only real relief would come when the storm started.
“Not until this afternoon, I’m afraid,” said Aunt Winnie with real sympathy.
Great. I had several more hours of this to look forward to. Aunt Winnie shoved a cup of coffee in my hand—a bright purple cup that blared in pink letters SASSY, SEXY, AND SEVENTY. I tossed Henry’s watch onto the table and took a grateful sip.
“Why don’t you go back to bed?” she asked. “Peter and I can handle this.”
I took another mouthful of the hot coffee and rubbed my hand across my face. “No,” I said. “I’ll be okay. I think the aspirin is starting to kick in. Besides, didn’t we agree last night that you were going to sleep in and Peter and I would handle breakfast?”
“Thank you,” Peter chimed in with a weary voice. Pointing the wooden spoon accusingly at Aunt Winnie, he said, “I’ve been trying to convince her of that all morning.” More batter dripped onto the wood floor.
Aunt Winnie shook her head. “I remember you two agreeing that I would sleep in. What I don’t remember is my agreeing to it.” She slammed the refrigerator door shut. Sticking her jaw out defiantly, she continued, “What’s the point of running an inn if you don’t run it? This is still my place, thank you very much, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to hide in my room every time something unpleasant happens. I can handle this.”
Her words were strong, but they were belied by her appearance. As debilitating as my headache was, it hadn’t prevented me from noticing the dark circles under her eyes or her pale, pasty complexion.
“Aunt Winnie—” I began.
“No, Elizabeth,” she said, cutting me off. “I know you mean well—that you both mean well,” she amended, turning to Peter, “but I don’t treat you like children and order you back to your rooms.” She stopped and gave me a meaningful look before adding, “Even when you clearly need to be there.” She paused. “All I ask is that you afford me the same respect.”
Peter spoke first. “I’m sorry, Aunt Winnie. You’re right. We didn’t mean to be obnoxious,” he said, the spoon hanging forlornly by his side. Lady Catherine, never far from the food preparations, snaked around his ankles. Her small pink tongue darted out to lick the spilled batter.
“We’re just worried about you,” I added.
“I know,” she said. “But I’m going to be fine. We all will be. Now, Peter, give me that spoon before you make more of a mess of this kitchen and drip batter onto Lady Catherine’s fur.”
I really wanted to believe her, but it’s hard to be optimistic when your head feels like it’s being held together with defective tape.
After cleaning up the batter, the three of us prepped the breakfast. Aunt Winnie put together the cereals, Peter ground the coffee, and I took over the muffins. As I placed a tray of blueberry muffin batter into the oven, I said, “You know, before this weekend, I never really cooked. But I think I’m starting to get the hang of it.”
“Yes,” Peter said, leaning down to change the oven’s setting from broil to bake. “You’re becoming a regular pro.” He winked at me when he said this and gave my shoulder a friendly squeeze.
Joan and Henry were already in the reading room when I carried in the breakfast tray. So was Daniel. What surprised me was Polly standing next to him. Her jet-black hair was still pulled back into a tortoiseshell headband, but she had traded in her usual shapeless ankle-length dress for jeans and a black turtleneck. Against so much black, her freshly scrubbed face appeared young and vulnerable. Unconsciously, my own eyes slid to the room’s mirror to seek out my reflection. The vision that stared back at me was anything but dewy fresh. In fact, I looked like something that sucked the life out of dewy fresh things.
“Hello, Elizabeth,” Polly said with a small smile. “I hope you don’t mind me barging in on breakfast, but Daniel and I are running some errands today. We want to get an early start before the storm hits.”
“Not at all. Help yourself,” I said.
Daniel had been staring at me since I’d walked into the room. His expression was not one of admiration. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, as he lifted a muffin from the tray, “but you look like you’ve been dragged through the hedge backward.”
“I have a headache.”
“I’d say the headache was having you,” he offered before walking away. Polly poured herself a cup of coffee and followed.
I was setting everything out when Joan appeared next to me. She was dressed in a fisherman’s sweater and brown corduroy slacks, and her unruly red hair was pulled back into a simple bun. A stranger would be hard-pressed to guess that this refined-looking woman with the delicate features was involved in a murder investigation. But as she peered at me from behind her glasses, I could see that her eyes were worried. What was Joan Anderson’s secret? And how did it relate to Gerald’s murder?
My head was throbbing and I no longer had any patience for subtleties. “I meant to tell you, I found Henry’s watch. I also found a necklace. You didn’t lose one, by chance, did you?”
Joan stared at me, her expression inscrutable. “A necklace? No. But I’m glad that you found Henry’s watch. He’ll be so pleased.”
Henry joined us. “Dear,” Joan said quickly, “Elizabeth found your watch.”
“Really?” he said, turning to me. “That’s good, I’ve been looking all over for it.”
“I left your watch in the kitchen, Mr. Anderson. I’ll get it for you in a minute. I found a necklace, too. But no one seems to know anything about it.” Joan glanced at Henry. He shifted the position of his thick arms several times, first crossing them on his chest, then letting them fall loosely at his sides, and finally holding them behind his back. “Really?” was all he said.
“Yes,” I said, straightening the breakfast items. “I wonder if it could have something to do with Gerald’s murder?” I mused. “I’d better call Detective Stewart.”
I ignored their stunned expressions and walked back to the kitchen. I told Peter and Aunt Winnie what I had done. “Quick,” I said to Peter, “get out there and see if you can overhear anything between them.” Muttering something about a “headstrong idiot,” Peter rushed off in the direction of the reading room.
Aunt Winnie turned to me. “Honey, are you sure you should have done that?”
I rubbed my head. “No. But it’s too late now. I’m going to call Detective Stewart again. I don’t know how, but I’m going to make him listen to me.”
Leaving Aunt Winnie in the kitchen, I shoved Henry’s watch in my pocket and hurried down the hall to the office. As usual, it was a complete mess. Really, the murderer couldn’t have picked a better place to stash the tape, I thought. Given the room’s constant state of disorganization, Aunt Winnie never would have found the tape herself. My mind went back to my first night at the inn. Hadn’t I heard someone in the office? Could that have been the killer planting the tape? I made a mental note to tell Detective Stewart. As I rummaged through the desk for his phone number, I heard the front door open. Wondering who it could be, I stuck my head out of the office. It was Jackie.
She was certainly dressed for the cold weather. An enormous blue wool hat decorated with tiny white snowflakes covered her head. The little bit of her face not cove
red by the hat was swallowed up by a giant red-and-white scarf that had to be one of her knitting creations. It was mammoth. I could see why Linnet thought the one given to her was meant to be a shawl.
Jackie looked around the empty foyer with an unsure expression and walked by the office before she saw me. “Elizabeth!” she cried out, turning to face me. “I’m so glad you’re here. You’re just the person I wanted to talk to.”
“Why?” I asked, coming out of the office. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve remembered! I told you it would come to me and it did! Just as I was falling asleep last night it came to me. The lights! It was the lights!” she exclaimed excitedly.
“The lights?” I repeated. “I don’t understand. What about the lights?”
She shook her head in exasperation. “Oh, never mind. I must talk to Detective Stewart. I’ve been calling him all morning, but I can’t get through. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the man was deliberately ducking my calls.”
Luckily, she didn’t expect me to refute this; I doubt I could have done it with a straight face. She kept talking, her voice excited. “But then I remembered you!”
“Me?” I said, confused. “Why me?”
“Because you’re working with Detective Stewart and you’ll know how to get in touch with him!”
Behind her the Andersons and Daniel and Polly came to the door of the reading room. Seeing Jackie, they paused, their expressions curious.
“But I’m not working with him—” I began.
Jackie waved away my protestations with a gloved hand. “Don’t worry, my dear. Your secret is safe with me. But I have to get in touch with him. I must tell him. Once he hears me out, he’ll understand. I’d drive over to the station myself, but I’ve got to get back to the house now. I promised Linnet that I’d find her contacts before I met her at the club for lunch—although truth be told, I have no idea where they could be. But I’ll turn that house inside out if I have to because Linnet will be furious with me if she has to wear her glasses at the club. Oh, I can’t wait to tell her about the murder,” she said with a smile. “She’ll be so surprised! It’s not who we originally thought it was at all!”
“But I don’t understand,” I said. My headache or the medicine had slowed down my thought process dramatically. “What am I supposed to tell Detective Stewart?”
Jackie let out a frustrated sigh. “Why, I thought that was obvious!” she said. “I know who did it! I know who the killer is!”
At the reading room doorway, a coffee cup crashed to the floor. Jackie whirled around suddenly. Realizing for the first time that she had an audience, she gave a startled gasp. Joan and Henry stood just outside the doorway. Polly was bending down to pick up the pieces of the shattered cup. Next to her was Daniel, with an inscrutable expression.
I couldn’t see Jackie’s face. Was she staring at someone in particular? When she turned back to me, her complexion was ashen. The snowflakes on her hat trembled as she said in a shaky voice, “I can’t say any more now. I didn’t realize … Just have him call me or come by the house. I’ll be there for a few hours.” Her lower lip quivered and she added in a harsh whisper, “Linnet’s right. I am a silly old fool.”
Without another word she scurried out, slamming the door behind her. I stared at the group frozen in the doorway. They stared back at me.
CHAPTER 19
For precocity some great price is always
demanded sooner or later in life.
—MARGARET FULLER
HOLLY SPOKE FIRST. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth, I seem to have broken one of your cups.” Cradling the wet remains in her hands, she nodded at the front door. “What was that all about?” Her tone was casual, but her face was tense, her green eyes glittering like shards of sea glass.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “She wants to talk with Detective Stewart about something.”
Polly glanced at Daniel. “She didn’t say about what?”
If they hadn’t heard Jackie’s startling declaration, I wasn’t about to enlighten them. “Not so that I understood,” I said, shaking my head.
“Well,” she said, nodding at her hands, “I am sorry about the cup.”
“Don’t be.” I stepped forward to take the pieces from her. Her trembling hands were ice-cold. I looked at her in surprise. Her eyes were trained on my face as if she were trying to read something from it. But she said nothing more. She signaled to Daniel and they both crossed the foyer and slipped into their coats. “Be back later,” Daniel called over his shoulder as they stepped out into the freezing air.
Clutching the wet shards of china in my hands, I ran down the hall to the kitchen. Bursting through the door, I said, “Aunt Winnie, you’ll never guess what just happened!”
She was sitting at the table, a plate of toast and a cup of coffee in front of her. Eyeing the mess in my hands, she took a sip of coffee before intoning calmly, “You smashed one of my good coffee cups.”
“No, Polly did that,” I said, throwing the remains in the trash. I turned to her and in an excited whisper, blurted out, “Jackie was just here. She says she knows the identity of the killer!”
Aunt Winnie slammed her cup down on the table. “You’re kidding! Who?”
“She didn’t say. She wants to get in touch with Detective Stewart first, but she can’t reach him.” I looked down at my hands, realized they were covered with coffee drippings, and moved to the sink to wash them. I couldn’t seem to stand still.
Aunt Winnie’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. Why did she come here?”
I yanked the faucet off and turned back to Aunt Winnie. Jackie’s startling announcement had left me with a rush of adrenaline and I now drummed my fingers nervously on the countertop. “She has it in her head that I’m working with Detective Stewart. Apparently she thinks I’ve got a better chance of reaching him.”
“Did she say anything else? What makes her think she knows who did it?” Aunt Winnie was now standing, too, her foot tapping out a rhythm similar to my fingers.
“She said it had to do with the lights, but I don’t know what that means.” I paced back and forth between the sink and the table while I tried to make sense of that statement. Lady Catherine appeared. Perching on the chair opposite Aunt Winnie, she nonchalantly tried to steal a piece of toast.
“The lights? What about the lights?” Aunt Winnie asked, her voice sharp. Without looking, she shoved Lady Catherine off the chair.
“She didn’t say. Everyone came into the foyer from the reading room and she left.” I knew it was silly, but hope began to rise in my chest. Maybe this nightmare was about to end. If, by some miracle of heaven, Jackie had solved the mystery, then Aunt Winnie would be safe. But that said, I couldn’t stand this inaction anymore. “I’m going to try to get hold of Detective Stewart,” I said. “Jackie said she’s going to be home for a bit. Then she has to meet Linnet for lunch.”
“I’m going to call Randy.” Aunt Winnie quit the kitchen and headed for her room.
I rushed back to Aunt Winnie’s office, where I resumed my search for Detective Stewart’s number. As I rummaged through the desk, Henry appeared in the doorway. “Elizabeth?” he said. He stepped into the room and, amazingly, shut the door softly behind him. “I’m here for my watch.”
With his presence the tiny, cramped office seemed to shrink even farther. Henry had never struck me as an imposing man. But now, alone with him in Aunt Winnie’s office with the door closed, he seemed large and menacing.
“Of course, Mr. Anderson,” I said crisply. “I have it right here.” My stomach was churning, but at least I thought I sounded in control. I reached into my pant pocket and handed it to him.
“Thank you.” His thick fingers grasped the watch.
“It’s very nice,” I babbled. “But I think Mrs. Anderson is right—you really should get the clasp fixed.”
“Um. Yes. You’re probably right.” He nodded quickly, sending a strand of limp brown hair down onto his forehead.
We stared at each other and then he said, “Well, thank you again for finding it.” He made no move to leave and I became more than ever aware of that closed door. Glancing at the desk, I searched for something I could use to defend myself should the need arise. A letter opener lay on top of a pile of papers and I palmed it. Granted, it wasn’t much, but it was metal. It would have to do. My only other defense in hurting him would be to shout out nasty things about Mrs. Kristell Dubois. I entertained a brief image of him falling, doubled over in pain, as I hollered, “Mrs. Kristell Dubois is a gauche, tarted-up old biddy.” Henry still made no move to leave; he seemed caught in some internal debate.
An idea came to me. “Don’t you want to know where I found it?” I asked, breaking the silence. It was clear that he did not.
Reluctantly, he said, “Where?”
I was taking a gamble, but given that someone had planted the tape in Aunt Winnie’s office, I had to try. “Here,” I said, gesturing toward the desk. “On the floor underneath the desk. I wonder how it ended up there.”
Henry’s dark eyes slid to where I had indicated. With a guarded expression, he said, “I have no idea.” He hadn’t blanched in shock, but I was sure he was upset. Clearing his throat, he seemed about to say more when the door opened. Peter poked his head around the door frame. “Elizabeth?” he said. “What’s going on? Oh, excuse me, Mr. Anderson. I didn’t see you.” Sensing the tense atmosphere, Peter asked, “Is everything all right?”
“Everything is fine,” Henry said. Without another word, he shoved past Peter and out of the office. As soon as he was gone, I sank heavily into the chair.
Peter turned to me. “What the hell was that all about?”
“I gave him back his watch. I told him I found it underneath the desk.”
“Why did you tell him that?”
“I don’t know. I thought that if he planted the tape here, he might look guilty or something.”