by Beth Byers
“A pillow and a missing journal,” Violet said. “The simple mistakes of a killer.”
“Exactly,” Mrs. Stevens agreed. “Now, which one of my beloveds killed him? Because you’re right, they’re my family, I love them, and one of them murdered my brother. One of them might murder me or someone else I love next. I don’t want to lose anyone else.”
Violet shook her head helplessly. She wished she could provide that answer.
Chapter 14
“Why did you involve me?” Violet asked the old woman.
“I asked Mr. Baldwin, Olly’s oldest friend, what to do. He’s known Emily for quite a long time and he suggested we confer with her. It was Emily who said we should draw you and Jack in.”
Violet had to admit she was shocked to the core of herself. Emily Allen did not care for Violet. They’d come to an unsteady truce but the truth of the matter was that Miss Allen had once been loved by Jack, she’d thrown him over, and when she was ready to draw him back—she failed. Violet didn’t think Jack would have been drawn in again even if they hadn’t been in love, but Miss Allen blamed Violet for her failure.
Violet took a deep breath and then asked, “Are you the one who sent the letters to my door?”
Mrs. Stevens nodded. “I was afraid you wouldn’t help if it seemed like the delusions of an old woman. I got a neighborhood boy to help me.”
Violet admitted to herself that she might have sidestepped or taken the many points that Jack had made about this not being their problem and let him talk her out of it. Violet sighed, hating that Mrs. Stevens could have been right.
Violet started to leave to explain to meet with Jack and share what they’d both discovered, but at the last moment, she turned back. “Who else knew about Mr. Rees’ sleeping habits?”
Mrs. Stevens eyes welled. “Everyone.”
“So anyone would have known to take the journal?”
“Olly was vocal about his practices. He almost proselytized them. Within the family, to be honest, he did. Any one of us would have known to look for the journal if we wanted to hide something.”
Violet paced Mrs. Stevens’ bedroom. “Which means that there is something to hide. I thought there must have been. However—” Violet glanced at the family photograph on the wall and then back at Mrs. Stevens.
It was the great aunt who finished the idea. “What terrible secret could any of them have that was worth killing their father or grandfather over? I have no idea.”
Violet crossed to the woman and took her hands gently. Despite her sharpness and energy for her age, she was in her seventies. Her hands were spotted with age. Her hair was white and thinner than it must have been in her youth. She was a lovely woman for her age, but she was aged, and her family had murdered her beloved brother.
“I’m sorry,” Violet whispered.
“I convinced myself I wouldn’t lose him until so much later,” Mrs. Stevens whispered back. “I wasn’t ready for this. I knew my husband would die first. His health was never very good. But, Olly? Not Olly.” Her voice cracked and she was racked with tears. “Not Olly. He was my best friend from my earliest day. My best friend, my best defender, my best—” Whatever Mrs. Stevens intended to say didn’t make it past her tear-choked throat. “N-n-n-not Olly. Not Olly.”
Violet rubbed her back and held her until her tears faded enough to let Mrs. Stevens speak.
“It doesn’t stop hurting, losing someone. I know that you know that, Violet. I want to apologize that I was so callous about your aunt. I suppose I thought it wouldn’t hurt as much because it wasn’t your mother or your husband.”
“She was my mother,” Violet told Mrs. Stevens flatly. “In all the ways that mattered, she was my mother. She took over being our primary caregiver after our own mother died.”
“Our?” Mrs. Stevens asked, yawning around her question. Violet guessed that sleepless nights and the crying jag had pushed Mrs. Stevens from tired to exhausted.
“My twin and I,” Violet said, rising. “You need to sleep. Lay down and remember all the good things about your brother, and we’ll do what we can to find his killer and protect your loved ones.”
Mrs. Stevens didn’t object when Violet helped her to rise and to get her into bed or when Violet took the extra key to the bedroom and locked the door. Violet stared at it for a long time before starting back towards the room she shared with Jack.
“What were you doing in there?” Phoebe demanded.
“Talking to Mrs. Stevens about my aunt.” Violet glanced Phoebe over and realized that Phoebe, at least, hadn’t been one of the weeping Reeses at the table. She was dry-eyed and seemingly unbothered.
“Why?”
“Because,” Violet said quietly. “I know what it feels like to lose.”
Phoebe snorted and then stepped back when Violet’s gaze narrowed on her. “It didn’t sound so bad. Gaining such a fortune.”
Violet barely held back an animalistic growl as she hissed, “I was always rich enough. I’d give away every cent I have to get my aunt back. You are foolish if you think money buys happiness.”
Phoebe scowled at Violet and muttered, “What do you know about what it’s like to be poor?”
“You aren’t poor,” Violet snapped. “You don’t know anything about being poor.”
“And you do?” Phoebe shot back.
“Yes,” Violet said. “My ward lived in a hovel, doing her best to support her grandmother as a child. I’ve seen real poverty. You’re just not as rich as you’d like to be. There’s a difference between not swimming in ready money and being poor, Phoebe.”
Phoebe glared at Violet but she just shook her head and left her behind.
“You are a busybody interfering where you aren’t wanted,” Phoebe called after her. “No one killed Olly and all you’re doing is encouraging an old woman in her fantasies.”
Violet didn’t bother dignifying Phoebe with a response. She went to the floor were her room was and found Jack, Smith, and Beatrice.
Jack shook his head at Vi, taking her by the back of the neck as he said, “When I didn’t find you here…”
Violet let him tug her close even as she murmured, “I left a note.”
Jack breathed in deeply and then blew out slowly. “I knew you were all right and I was still worried.”
Violet was touched more than she had been in the past. Her fears at losing him made his fears of losing her more understandable, even when his worry was over what she considered nothing. It was fine. He was protective, which was one of the ways he showed his love. “Let me tell you what I learned.”
Violet recapped her conversation with Mrs. Stevens and Jack grunted.
“It seems conclusive at this point,” Beatrice said. “Not that we didn’t think so before, but those are telling details.”
Violet nodded. “Someone has a dark skeleton in the closet. We need to find a way to discover who.”
“They all seem so normal. Not necessarily likable,” Beatrice added, “but normal.”
Smith dug through Violet’s things, apparently not caring that he was going through her bag while everyone was watching openmouthed. He seemed amused at the shocked looks on their faces. “Let’s go through them then.” Violet shook her head as Smith handed Beatrice some of Violet’s paper and her favorite pen. “There’s Mrs. Stevens. I think we can safely remove her from the suspect list.”
Jack lifted his brows and then added, “Agreed. What she said aligned with what Emily said. They have started looking into the family members, but all they’ve discovered is that Phoebe leaves her daughter with a girl near her rooms more than her husband realizes and that Harold lies about a business meeting every Friday at his work.”
“Where does he go?” Violet asked.
“They haven’t figured it out yet,” Jack said, “just that his superior believes Harold has a regular appointment with a fictional client. For all we know, he goes to the pictures or the races.”
Smith grunted. “If he’s gamblin
g, he isn’t losing enough for it to show in their finances. He does all right for a newer fellow at his company. He’s well-liked. He rents his rooms, but they’re paid on time, and the woman who owns the building is quite fond of him.”
“Is the woman also fond of Phoebe?” Violet asked.
Smith shook his head.
“I thought not. She was all right when we were shopping, but she’s rather distasteful now. To be honest, I would happily never lunch with this old school chum again.”
Jack laughed, but he wasn’t that amused. “Murder turns the best of us into lesser versions of ourselves. I’m not sure your Phoebe started as the best of us.”
Violet had no arguments with that assessment. Phoebe wasn’t Vi’s. They had the history of the same school and nothing more positive could be said of them.
“What about Phoebe?” Beatrice asked. “Are there any signs that she’s the one who killed Olly?”
Everyone paused and then shook their heads. She was hateful, yes. Or she was upset and ready to lash out at whoever was around her, but there was proof of nothing other than she was dissatisfied.
“She’s not gambling either,” Smith said. “Outside of despising Delilah and irritating Vi—Phoebe seems like an unlikely candidate.”
“As do the missionary and his wife,” Beatrice said. “I was able to eavesdrop on them. The entirety of their conversation was about what their Christian duty was after this possible revelation. Stay home and support their family or return to the field.”
“That only means that they didn’t work together to killed Olly Rees,” Violet said with exhaustion. “Whoever killed him is playacting his or her normal life right now.”
Smith gave her a look of sheer approval which left Violet momentarily sad about the state of her being, but she decided to let it go. It wasn’t her fault that people were monsters and she’d started to see it more clearly.
“What about the sons, did you find anything out about them?”
“I visited their houses earlier in the day,” Smith said. “When I was getting the bread from the bakery.”
“You got the bread?” Violet was surprised. She immediately followed that up with, “You did not.”
“I’m a servant,” Smith said righteously, “and the bakery was unable to deliver due to their auto being out of commission.”
“Was that you?” Beatrice demanded. She expected the affirmative from her tone. “Did you ruin some poor baker’s auto?”
Smith snorted. “It was convenient and I ‘got lost’ but even I don’t have preternatural abilities. I just heard the housekeeper discussing it with the regular daily and volunteered to go. Regardless, both Edgar and Oliver have successful careers and nice houses. They’re well liked in the community and timely on their bills from what I was able to learn. The worst that can be said is that Edgar sleeps through Sunday services and Oliver lets his dogs run wild. Both of their wives are well liked.”
“They hardly sound nefarious,” Jack said, and Violet yawned deeply.
“Why don’t we split the family up and see what we can find out about them?” Jack suggested, eyeing Violet’s yawn and his priorities shifted. It had been a long day with traveling, dinner, the drama after dinner, and then holding Mrs. Stevens as she wept. That did not, however, make Violet incapable of carrying on. She shot him a dark look and Smith cackled until Beatrice nudged him.
“Violet, you take Delilah,” Smith said.
Violet shook her head. “I don’t like her.”
“Show her the picture you had taken of the twins,” Beatrice said, “and then ask her for inane advice. The housekeeper said Delilah is obsessive over babies.”
“But I don’t like her,” Violet said around another yawn. “Smith should take her since I barely like him.”
“I don’t like any of these people,” Smith muttered without sympathy. “Mostly including you.”
“You only like Beatrice,” Violet said, unbothered. “Beatrice, you should look in on Phoebe and tell her that I sent you as a peace offering.”
“She’s not a slave,” Smith snapped.
“She’s an investigator who will probably end up mending loads of stockings,” Violet agreed. “Feel free to take them and not do it. But perhaps you can compliment her and disparage me. I bet she’d love that.”
Beatrice’s gaze widened and then she nodded. She didn’t look happy about it, but Smith did. “What will you tell Phoebe about Vi?”
Beatrice’s unamused gaze moved over Smith, but he was impervious to her anger.
“I don’t think you can do it,” Smith said. “There’s no way you’ll disparage Vi even fictionally.
“I’ll just pretend I’m talking about you and use feminine pronouns,” Beatrice retorted just as another yawn came over Violet. She found that laughing and yawning at the same time were nearly impossible. She couldn’t catch her breath because the choking was interspersed with giggles and by the time she’d gained control of herself, Smith had tugged Beatrice from the bedroom.
Chapter 15
Before facing Delilah, Violet went to the bath, only to find the door closed. She started to knock but stopped when she heard a woman crying. Was it because of the murder of the grandfather or because she had murdered the man? Violet tried the doorknob and realized that it wasn’t locked. Slowly, she opened the door. Charlotte looked up in horror. Violet held out the handkerchief in her pocket and the woman took it with shaking hands.
“I—I’m sorry. I’m monopolizing the bath, aren’t I?”
Violet shook her head and sat down opposite Charlotte. “I’m sorry for intruding.” She paused. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Losing someone you love?”
Charlotte nodded and then closed her eyes. This was a woman aching to pour out her troubles and Violet was the first sympathetic ear. “My husband doesn’t want to stay here.”
“England?”
“Here. Near my family. His is in the north. He says we should look to our families given our feelings since returning back to our country, but—but, he doesn’t want our children around my family, and I can’t blame him.”
Charlotte shuddered with another sob as Violet sat next to her on the edge of the bath. She rubbed Charlotte’s back as Vi would have done for one of her own friends. “Because someone in your family murdered your grandfather?”
Charlotte nodded, her crying only increasing.
“My cousin murdered my great aunt who helped raised us both.” Violet’s voice was low and sympathetic. Gentle even as she added, “I didn’t do that. My brother didn’t do that. Our other cousins, who we suspected for some time, didn’t do that. Just her.”
Charlotte looked slowly up.
“I still love the others and see the others. We exchanged letters and joys and spend time with each other as we can.”
Charlotte dabbed her eyes as she sat straighter. Her voice was still tear-filled when she asked, “So you get past suspecting each other?”
Violet nodded. “I was the main suspect because I was the primary inheritor. They love me again. They loved me then.”
“I love my family still,” Charlotte said. “My husband says we need to abandon the sinners, but I don’t want to.”
“Well, they’re not all sinners, are they?” Violet asked gently. “You aren’t.”
Charlotte’s mouth firmed. “I don’t want my children around the killer.”
“Of course you don’t. But I don’t think there’s more than one killer. So the rest of the people you love are innocent.”
Charlotte rubbed her brow and then blew her nose. Her spine stiffened as she gained control. “We have to find the killer. Before the rest of my family falls apart.”
Violet was shocked by her instant liking of this woman. She set aside everything that was the periphery aside to focus on the primary issue. One of her family members was a killer, and the rest were being torn apart by that fact.
“Your family is full of believers, aren’t they?”
Charlotte
’s face clouded. “You don’t mean religious believers?”
Violet shook her head. “I mean believers that your grandfather was killed.”
Charlotte closed her eyes again. “It’s like a religious awakening. You just start noticing things. At first, they seem like nothing, but they add up to something powerful. Maybe something that can’t be denied. Yes,” Charlotte’s face was sickly. “Yes, we’re full of believers that Grandfather was killed.”
Violet gave her a moment before continuing. “Your great aunt determined that it wasn’t money.”
Charlotte’s eyebrows wrinkled, but she nodded. “Yes, of course it wasn’t. My father keeps coming back to that. It wasn’t money, but it was something.”
Violet was gentle as she added, “And your grandfather didn’t have enemies.”
“He was a good man and a good patriarch. He was an honorable citizen. Why would he have enemies?”
“What would happen if there were a secret in your family?”
Charlotte took a slow breath in and let it out slowly. Her hands were trembling as she stood and washed her face. “You think that one of us had a secret?”
Violet nodded quickly. “Your grandfather was sharp in his mind?”
“He was,” Charlotte agreed. “He was always observant and precise.”
Violet lifted her brows at Charlotte and waited for her to finish.
“He might have noticed something. Perhaps that last day. He was fine in the morning. He joined me for breakfast with the children in the nursery and then we went on a walk together. He continued on when I took the children into the house. When I saw him again before dinner,” Charlotte frowned deeply as her mind returned to that day. “He was upset. I’m sure he was. He didn’t speak at dinner hardly at all which was quite unlike him. He loved to tell stories.”
At some point over the course of the day, Violet thought, Olly Rees had noticed something with his children or grandchildren and it had affected his sleep, making him go for hot milk, and probably write in the missing journal. Whatever he’d learned had led to his murder.