Lady Marmalade Cozy Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3)

by Jason Blacker

  “And when you told her Jack had been murdered?”

  “She sighed and nodded and her eyes teared up and she went upstairs and I haven’t seen her since.”

  “Do you know where she might have been so late at night?”

  “No, my Lady, it’s not my place.”

  “Of course not.”

  “When did you see anybody else come home?” asked Frances.

  “I stayed in the kitchen. I was really tired so I kept nodding off at the kitchen table. I heard other men’s voices. I believe Dr. Garnet was here after seven. James said he was in the study and didn’t want to be disturbed. Then he went out into the garden and into the greenhouse where Enoch saw him leave again, at about eight I think he said.”

  “What about Gerald, you told us that Gerald was here too, at least from what Enoch said?”

  “Yes, my Lady. I heard Mr. Gerald arrive not long after Dr. Garnet. He also rummaged through the study. I heard him that time, then he too left the house for the garden and went into the greenhouse.”

  “And what time did he leave again?”

  “Must have been a little after nine, I remember because I heard the clock chime. Just a couple of minutes after he left I heard the front door open again and I thought he must have forgotten something but it was Mr. Garrett instead.”

  “And he’s been here since then, hasn’t he?”

  “As best as I can tell.”

  “You must be very tired,” said Frances.

  Agnus nodded and smiled a thin smile that showed no teeth.

  “I am,” she said nodding.

  “Would you know why Dr. Garnet and Gerald might have been round this morning?”

  “I don’t, my Lady, but they were probably here to see Mr. Forsyth, they obviously don’t know what’s happened to him.”

  “And they’re usually allowed to wait in Jack’s study?”

  “No, that’s the odd thing about it. I heard James trying to keep them out of Mr. Forsyth’s study but they were absolutely determined about waiting for Mr. Forsyth in the study. They were quite mean to James about it too, and what could he do?”

  Agnus looked at Lady Marmalade with a pained, searching expression.

  “I understand. Where do guests usually wait for Jack?”

  “He prefers they wait in the smoking room or the living room.”

  “I suppose you wouldn’t have any idea where Garrett was last night instead of being here?”

  Agnus shook her head from side to side, slowly as if feeling the weight of it.

  “I don’t know where he was. He’s often out and about spending time with friends.”

  “What about a girlfriend?”

  “I’ve never known him to have a girlfriend, my Lady.”

  “Thank you, Agnus. Is there anything else that you think is important?”

  She looked into her lap and fiddled a bit and shrugged.

  “It’s probably nothing.”

  “Go on.”

  “I heard a strange conversation last week sometime in the afternoon when I was washing dishes. It sounded like Dr. Garnet and Mr. Gerald were talking outside the kitchen window. It was hard to hear what they were talking about.”

  Frances waited for Agnus to compose her thoughts.

  “I think I heard Dr. Garnet say something about the docks and that Jack would be getting gold. Mr. Gerald asked if it was safe and was he certain it was a good idea. Dr. Garnet said it was Jack’s problem anyway and they were due. That’s all I heard.”

  The clatter of shoes could be heard in the hallway, it sounded like they were coming towards the living room.

  SEVENTEEN

  Chapter 17

  A moment later Garrett entered and then stopped and looked at the three of them.

  “What’s this?” he said.

  “I’ll be off, my Lady, if you don’t mind,” said Agnus, standing up as quick as jackrabbit. She didn’t look at Garrett as she stepped past him carefully.

  “What are you two doing here?”

  Garrett walked over to the bar and took a glass tumbler and poured three fingers of Scotch into it. He walked back over to where Frances and Florence were still seated. He leaned on the high, back end of the couch.

  “We came to offer our condolences and Florence brought some flowers that James is likely putting in a vase.”

  “I see.”

  “Why don’t you sit down, Garrett, you look terribly disheveled and tired.”

  Garrett looked down at himself. His dark brown pants were creased and had a smear of gray from on the outsides of the thigh where he had tried to brush off the dirt. His white shirt wasn’t looking as crisp and white as it should. A corner of it was sticking out in the front which he tucked back in, but that did nothing for the wrinkles. His brown jacket was equally in need of some starch and ironing.

  He sat down and Frances noticed some paper barely sticking out of his trouser pocket on the right side. Garrett took a long sip of the Scotch.

  “I feel remarkably good actually,” he said.

  “Tell me, Garrett,” said Frances, “have the Forsyths always chosen lies as a first recourse.”

  Garrett looked at Lady Marmalade sternly. He furrowed his brow and clenched his teeth. His eyes smoked but he got control of himself.

  “That’s quite impertinent,” he said to her, his voice hot from his mouth.

  “At least you’re alive to feel the dull thud of impertinence. I’m here to help solve your mother’s and, now it would seem, your father’s murder.”

  “And you think you can do better than the police?”

  He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and leaned back into the couch. He crossed his legs in front of him, his left one over the right. He draped his left arm over the ridge of the couch and casually held his tumbler in his right hand while he swirled the golden liquid inside.

  Someone unaware of the severity of the situation might mistake the three of them as old friends visiting and chatting about the controversial Fred Perry’s move to the United States. And in some ways, perhaps this conversation was much like the start to a tennis match. The volleys back and forth to test one’s opponent.

  “All I want, Garrett, is to bring justice to your mother and father.”

  “That would be nice for my mother,” he said, “as for my father, well I think he got what’s coming.”

  “That’s a little cold, isn’t it?” asked Florence.

  He looked over at Florence with a squinty stare.

  “Is it?” he asked. “You who knew my father so well.”

  The sarcasm came out of his mouth as biting as the Scotch had gone down.

  “Tell us about that,” said Frances.

  “Tell you that my father was a philanderer, a drug addict, gambler, and all round cad. Surely you’ve figured all of that out by now.”

  “Yes, we’ve come to learn about your father’s indiscretions...”

  “Indiscretions, ha!”

  “Tell us about why you think he deserved to die?”

  Garrett took a long last swig of his Scotch and then stood up and walked back towards the bar. He looked back at them.

  “This is going to take a while.”

  He poured another thick three fingers of Scotch and he wasn’t using his somewhat slender fingers as guides. He came back, walking with a swagger, holding his tumbler out in front of him as the golden liquid licked the sides of the glass up and down. He sat down and leaned back.

  “My father would sleep with any woman who’d give him the chance. Looking back now, I realize this has been going on for years. More than that, this whole life I’ve lived is a lie.”

  “How so?”

  “Because I’m practically destitute now because of him. Or rather, I now realize I’ve been destitute all along because of him. This life, this upper crust life that I thought I was born into has slowly been whittled away and now remains barely a stick upon which to hang my coattails.”

  “Can you not salvage t
he business now?” asked Florence.

  Garrett took a sip of Scotch. It had started to loosen his tongue.

  “That’s what I thought. That’s what Gerald and I thought when we first confronted him about it. But I’ve had a look at the records he’s kept in his study. Forsyth Motor Manufacturing is not worth the buildings that house it. We’re going to have to sell of the company and hope that will appease the creditors. If not, I’ll be spending the rest of my life in debtor’s prison.”

  “There haven’t been debtor’s prisons in this country for over fifty years,” said Florence looking at him with worry stitched into her forehead.

  Garrett leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees, his tumbler threatening to relinquish the Scotch upon the carpet. He shook his head.

  “God, I was using it metaphorically. I’ll be in court trying to extricate myself from all the debt. The last thumbscrew good old father left me with was to name me the heir to his business. Instead of that being a blessing, it’s a bloody curse.”

  “We’ve heard rumors that your father was storing gold,” said Frances. “Do you know if there was any truth to it?”

  Garrett steadied his gaze on Lady Marmalade, the tumbler still weighing the decision about whether to rid itself of the golden liquid.

  “Yes, I heard about it. Mother dearest spilled the beans at dinner one night. Though I don’t know if it’s true. And if it’s true I haven’t found evidence to back it up. That’s what I was looking for in the greenhouse. But there’s nothing there.”

  “Why on earth would there be gold in a greenhouse?”

  Garrett hung his head and shrugged his shoulders. Then he sat upright and stared out into the hallway.

  “What the hell do you want?”

  EIGHTEEN

  Chapter 18

  MEREDITH walked into the living room and sat down on the second couch which was at right angles to the couch that held a now stiffened Garrett. Frances and Florence looked at the two of them as they stared at each other.

  “Could you be a dear, Garrett, and fetch me a drink?”

  “Certainly not, haven’t you bloody well done enough?”

  “Now, now, Garrett, I’m only here to commiserate in shared pain.”

  Meredith got up and walked over to the bar and mixed herself a Tom Collins in the proper glass. She looked back and offered one to Frances and Florence. The grandfather clock off to the side looked sternly down at the bar disapprovingly. It was not quite eleven. The hands on the clock looking like a squinting eye. Frances and Florence declined.

  Meredith came back with her cloudy drink in the tall round glass, the cherry was missing, but that was hardly the point of the drink. She took a long sip.

  “That’s exactly what I needed.”

  “I’m here to try and help bring justice to these terrible murders,” said Frances, trying to feel the temperature of the room.

  Meredith winced a smile.

  “Father got what he deserved, like I said,” said Garrett.

  Meredith looked over at him and knitted her eyebrows together.

  “Your father was a good man, better than you I might add. At least he worked for a living.”

  “Oh, I see, that’s what we call it now. Working for a living. When you ruin a productive business handed to you by your father and spend the money on whoring, opium and horses, that’s called working for a living is it?”

  Garrett threw his head back and laughed. It sounded more like the cackle of a jackal. He took a sip from his tumbler and then turned back towards Meredith.

  “I suppose so long as you got your way he was a good man. I’ll have you know he wasn’t just stepping out on my mother with you, but with a whole bunch of women. He was even going off to Argentina with one apparently, and unless your name’s Rachel, it wasn't with you.”

  Garrett reached into his pocket and took out a couple of pieces of paper. He opened the one and read it. Then he crumpled it up and threw it at Meredith.

  “I don’t believe it for a minute,” she said.

  “Then why don’t you take a read for yourself?”

  Meredith leaned over and picked up the crumpled up ball in front of her with her free left hand. She opened it up and straightened it out on her leg. Frances watched her eyes zig zag as she read the contents.

  “I didn’t believe it,” she said under her breath.

  “I beg your pardon?” asked Frances.

  Meredith looked up at Frances and shook her head.

  “I mean, I don’t believe it. Not a word.”

  “Stupid cow,” said Garrett, spitting out the words, “no wonder he chose you. You’re so damn gullible. Probably like the rest of them.”

  “Please, can we keep it civil and polite at least. I understand the two of you didn’t care much for each other, but for the sake of trying to find justice, can we not at least pretend?” asked Frances.

  Garrett looked away and stared into his drink. It was already halfway gone and he was already thinking about his third. Meredith sipped her Tom Collins and reached up into her sleeve for a tissue which she used to dab at her wet eyes.

  “Where were you on Tuesday, Garrett, between two and four thirty?” asked Frances.

  “I already told you that when the police were here. I went out to the pub to have a drink with some mates.”

  Garrett didn’t look at Frances as he spoke. He stared into his drink and then took a sip.

  “Why are you lying? What are you trying to protect?”

  “I’m not lying,” he said, again with his flittering eyes not looking directly at her.

  “That’s interesting, because we spoke to Finley just the other day?” said Florence.

  “Finley who?” said Garrett starting to feel a little nervous and hot under the collar.

  “Finley, the barman at the Wet Whistle.”

  “I didn’t kill my mother!” he said emphatically.

  “I know that,” said Frances.

  “Then why are you hounding me about where I was?”

  He looked at Lady Marmalade, his bite had softened, the spirits had started soothing his temperament. Thankfully he was not a mean drunk from the look of things.

  “Because I want to know why you’re protecting her?”

  Garrett looked at Frances quickly before breaking eye contact.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You do, Garrett, and you’re knotting yourself up in a tight bundle of lies that isn’t going to help. Tell me where I can find Lottie. Lottie Daubney?” asked Frances.

  Garrett took the last finger of Scotch in a big gulp and got up to pour himself a third.

  “She’s got nothing to do with it,” he said from the bar.

  Meredith looked from Garrett to Frances and then to Florence. The edge of her glass was balancing on her lip. She couldn’t decide if she wanted a taste or she wanted to think about what had just happened. Her eyes searched the faces in her field of vision but the puzzle wasn’t coming together.

  “Who’s this Lottie?” she finally asked.

  Garrett finished pouring his third drink and walked back to the couch.

  “Not who you might think. She’s not one of his whores.”

  “Why don’t you tell her,” said Frances.

  “Yes, tell me,” said Meredith.

  Garrett sat down and stared at his drink, not quite sure what to say so it seemed.

  “Lottie is...” said Frances.

  Garrett looked up at Lady Marmalade, a cross look all about his face.

  “I’ll tell her,” he said, and his words were harsh and biting.

  “Lottie happens to be my half sister.”

  He looked at Meredith and sat back into the couch, crossed his legs over each other and did the same with his arms, leaving the right one holding the drink in front of the left so he could sip it at will.

  “I see,” said Meredith.

  “Where is she, Garrett?” asked Frances.

  “I shan’t
tell, I think it’s best for everyone if we leave her out of this.”

  “I can get that information from the police you know, Garrett,” said Frances.

  “Then that’s where you’ll have to get it,” he said. “Listen, Lady Frances, Lottie has nothing to do with this I swear it.”

  He leaned in saying that as if to give emphasis or reassurance to his words.

  “That is not something I’m fully convinced of yet,” and then Lady Marmalade looked over at Meredith who was watching her and Garrett. “Where were you, Meredith, last night?”

  Meredith brought her drink down to rest in her lap and looked into it, as if the answers could be fished out of it like the cherry that should’ve been in the Tom Collins.

  “I was here last night,” she said looking up at Frances.

  “I meant before the police arrived.”

  “Good God, Frances, are you spying on us now?”

  “I’ve earned my title honestly, Meredith, I’d appreciate it if you used it.”

  Meredith didn’t say anything. She and Frances stared at each other for some time until Meredith broke the gaze.

  “I was out,” she said into her drink, not wanting to use Lady Marmalade’s title.

  “I see,” said Frances, “and I suppose that Jack’s car happened to drive here by itself sometime last night?”

  Meredith didn’t look at Lady Marmalade, she swirled her drink instead, perhaps hoping to create a vortex that might suck her in.

  “The police will be here any minute and I’m going to suggest that they search both the cars. Imagine what they might find.”

  “Better not,” said Garrett.

  Meredith got up to leave.

  “I suggest you stay right where you are if it’s all the same.”

  Meredith hesitated and then sat back down. Garrett shifted uncomfortably.

  “Do you know how Jack died?”

  Frances looked from Garrett to Meredith and back again. Neither of them would meet her gaze.

  “He was shot, so I’ve been informed.”

  “Yes, we bloody well know that. James informed us to,” said Garrett.

  “And I’m sure the police will be able to tell me if Jack had any pistols.” Frances paused for emphasis. “And I bet they’ll know if you have any pistols registered to you Garrett.”