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

by Jason Blacker

  “That’s quite macabre,” said Frances.

  Colin smiled as if Lady Marmalade had just given him the finest compliment he had ever heard.

  “Not as macabre as my Murdered Madonna,” he said placing the sketchbook back down on his lap and smiling admiringly at his own work.

  “Why is she in a bathtub?” asked Frances.

  Colin looked up at her, still smiling.

  “Because I imagine that would be an easy and satisfying way to murder her, if you were going to do it.”

  “Colin!” said Matilda, slapping him across the shoulder. “We’re in enough trouble as it is.”

  “You are indeed, and if anything should happen to Madge, the police will be very interested in you,” said Frances.

  “Look, it’s just a joke and a sketch. No harm meant by it. And anyway, I happen to agree with Penelope and Matilda, I think that silly old cow is setting you up, Lady Marmalade, and nothing is going to come of this. I think she likes the attention. No, I know she likes the attention and I imagine this is her coup de grâce.”

  “I hope you’re right, because, God forbid, anything happens to her and you’ll be the first on my list to speak with,” said Frances.

  “I’m an artist not a killer,” said Colin, appearing genuinely wounded that anyone should think otherwise.

  “You’re also impudent and callous, young man, and that will get you into a whole lot of trouble if you don’t mind your manners,” said Alfred.

  If he weren’t here with Lady Marmalade, Alfred felt certain he would have already boxed the lad’s ears. Colin closed the sketchbook and laid it on his lap with his hands on top of it.

  “If you were to look back over the year you’ve been here at Madge’s home as a boarder, do any other names come to mind as someone who might have an axe to grind with Madge?”

  Matilda looked off to the ceiling for a moment trying to sift through a year of life under the constant threat of bombs and the haranguing of Madge.

  “There was an older gentleman who came calling at the end of last year. I think it must have been around the middle of December.”

  Frances nodded.

  “He was a little older than Madge. He was a tall and large man. Not fat mind you, but big and he had thick gray hair with bushy eyebrows. That’s the impression he left on me. I overheard Jeremiah speaking with him at the front door. He was very well dressed and said his name was Hiram Gaspar.”

  “And what did he want?”

  “He wanted money.”

  “Are you sure, you said he was well dressed?” asked Lady Marmalade.

  “I’m quite sure. I had the distinct impression that he was a man who went through money quite liberally. He convinced Jeremiah to let him go upstairs and visit Madge, even though she didn’t want to see anyone. My bedroom is upstairs, all of ours are actually, but my bedroom is right next to Madge’s and I could hear them arguing through the wall. It got quite heated.”

  “What did you hear?”

  “He demanded the money that he said was rightfully his. He said if she didn’t give it to him that he knew about her secrets and that she would regret it. He’d tell everyone he knew about it.”

  “What was this secret?”

  “He didn’t say, but it made Madge very upset and she started yelling at him to get out and eventually she called for Jeremiah. It was at that point that he left. He was quite odd. I watched him leave as I stood just inside my doorway. He saw me and stopped and smiled. It was a kind smile but a sad one. He held his hat in his hand and he reminded me of a very well dressed undertaker as he stood there and spoke to me.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said, ‘I’d be careful if I was you, dear, there’re bad things bound to happen in this house.’”

  “Was that all?”

  “Yes. I didn’t know what to say so I said nothing. He just turned and walked out and I haven’t seen him since.”

  “Do you know who he was?”

  Matilda nodded, looking at Lula.

  “He said he was Jasper’s son, earlier in the conversation he was having with Madge. That set her off, too. She said something about him being no relation to her.”

  “Do you have any idea of who that might be?” asked Frances.

  Nobody spoke up. Matilda shrugged and said that maybe it was somebody related to Madge somehow. Frances noticed that Lula was fidgeting with her dress again.

  “Do you know, Lula?”

  Lula looked up and nodded.

  “I think Jasper might have been her uncle. When I found that photograph in grandmother’s things I found a couple of others, too. One of them was of her mother, Phoebe, when Phoebe was a young woman. It must have been before she was married. The date on the back said 1867. I think her mother must have been about ten or eleven. It showed a picture of a man and woman, must be Phoebe’s parents, along with Phoebe and a boy called Jasper. It looked like he was older by just a bit and he must have been her brother.”

  “So Jasper would have been Madge’s uncle?” asked Frances.

  Lula nodded her head.

  “I think so, though, when I asked about him at the same time I asked about Michael, she slapped me across the face and made me wash my mouth out with soap.”

  “That would make Hiram and Madge first cousins, I suppose,” said Frances.

  “If you say so, I find this whole thing quite complicated,” said Matilda.

  “Who was the mother of Phoebe and Jasper then?” asked Frances.

  Lula chewed her lip and furrowed her brow.

  “I think the parents in that picture were Charles and Lilly Gaspar. Yes, that’s right,” said Lula nodding, “because my grandmother always spoke so well about her grandmother whose name she said was Lilly.” Lula was nodding her head vigorously now. “That’s right because she said she always remembered her grandmother being as pretty as a flower. She really admired her.”

  “The picture is becoming clearer, thank you Lula. So how did she get the name Hollingsberry? Who were Madge’s parents?”

  “Phoebe married Rufus Hollingsberry.”

  Frances nodded.

  “All these family relationships are quite puzzling. And her parents died when she was quite young, right?”

  “Yes, I think she was seventeen when her parents died. At least that’s what I recall,” said Lula.

  Frances paused for a moment to collect her thoughts and put all the pieces of the puzzle in place. There was now an incredible cast of characters that she needed to either find out more about or discard completely. Only time would help with that.

  “Now, I’ve heard,” said Frances, looking back at Matilda, “that Madge threw out a gentleman friend of yours, Maxwell Blacksmith, and that you got quite upset about it. Is that true?”

  “Yes, that’s quite true. Max was just about to propose when she came barging in. It was barely past ten and she was just looking to make a fuss. He was on bended knee and reaching for his ring when she just walked straight into my room, without knocking I might add, and told him that curfew was up and that he’d best be going.”

  “And, what time was that?”

  “It was barely past ten, I don’t imagine it was past five after ten. I was spitting mad. These are the sorts of things that she does that just drive you batty.”

  “And did Max not propose after that?”

  “No, he did,” said Matilda, putting out her left hand for all to see the small solitaire diamond that was on her finger, “but still, the impertinence of it.”

  Lula looked at her with squinted eyes.

  “You are going to leave, aren’t you,” she said, sounding visibly upset.

  “Not for at least a year, and by then, we’ll get you out of here, too. Max doesn’t want to marry until after the war and he’s been discharged, and I agree. It was still sweet of him to propose as a promise to me for when he returns.”

  “When did he propose?” asked Frances.

  “St. David’s Day, the 1st of Mar
ch, he’s Welsh you see.”

  Frances nodded.

  “And I take it he’s not here at the moment; he’s on the front, is he?”

  “Yes, though he says he’s safe. I got a letter from him recently and he says we’re making good progress keeping the Japanese back. Last I heard he was in Madagascar writing to say that they were making good progress in wrestling it away from the Japanese and French.”

  “Well, as we’ve heard, we’ve gone a few weeks without any air raids, so perhaps things are indeed boding well for the future and the end of this war,” said Frances. “Is Max getting leave anytime soon?”

  Matilda looked down at her ring on her wedding finger and shook her head sadly.

  “No, I don’t think so, at least not for some months. He didn’t give any indication.”

  “Well,” said Frances trying to offer reassurance, “the two of you will have the rest of your lives together once this war is over and done with. And hopefully it will be the war to end all wars.”

  Matilda looked up at Frances and nodded eagerly, as if agreeing to the hope might make it so. Even though in the back of her head she had the niggling doubt, she didn’t wish to give any notice to.

  “So, to try and keep everything straight, Matilda, you can’t imagine who might want to harm Madge, other than Jeremiah, whom you think is quite odd, and dare I say frightful. Or perhaps the gardener, Silas, or maybe even this strange, big man you met once, Hiram Gaspar.”

  “Yes, I suppose if I were forced to guess, those might be my three best suspects, but I’ve never met the milkman or the postman so I can speak about them.”

  “Right, though we’ve all heard from Lula that they’re quite pleasant and it has been my experience that those who murder, most often, though certainly not always, have more than a casual acquaintance with their victim.”

  “But like I said, I really think that perhaps Madge is doing this herself to create more drama, as if there isn’t enough already, with the war and all the stress that goes along with it.”

  Frances turned to Colin.

  SEVEN

  Chapter 7

  “DO you have anything to add, Colin?” asked Frances.

  Colin looked up at Frances and stopped tapping on his sketchbook with his long, slender hands. He shrugged.

  “I don’t think so. Like Matilda and Penelope, I think that Madge is having you on. I find this whole idea of someone wanting to harm her quite preposterous.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, let’s look at things objectively, and no disrespect, Lady Marmalade, I know that your reputation precedes you, but let’s look at the facts.”

  “That’s often a good way to start,” agreed Frances.

  “Okay, then. The facts are that you have received, what, three letters?”

  Lady Marmalade nodded.

  “Three letters that apparently contain damming and threatening content. I doubt very much that you’ll find anybody’s handwriting to match that in the letters...”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because you’ve already looked at the samples we’ve given you and I can tell that nothing jumped out right away or you wouldn’t have stayed so long asking us these questions.”

  Frances hadn’t realized that Colin was more observant than she had originally given him credit for.

  “But perhaps somebody has masked their handwriting in the samples,” said Frances.

  Colin squinted his eyes and looked down at the floor briefly.

  “Perhaps, but that will be hard to uncover. As I said, we have to stick with the facts.”

  “Carry on.”

  “So you have three letters, given to you by Madge, that contain threatening content. But yet, who would have good reason to harm her. You might say any of us, so let’s take a moment to look at each of our motives.”

  “Please.”

  Colin nodded his head.

  “Good,” he said, and looked over at Penelope. “I’ll start over on my right with Penelope. What is her motive? Frankly, I can’t think of one for Penelope. She’s quiet, to be certain and doesn’t like Madge, that’s no surprise, but I wouldn’t say Madge treats her any worse than the rest of us.”

  He looked at her for a while and she smiled at him sweetly and nodded her head.

  “Yes, I agree, on the exterior, Penelope doesn’t look like she has much of a motive. But I have often found, Colin, that there are ulterior motives, secrets sometimes, that need to be uncovered before one can find the motive.”

  “But let’s stick with the facts as we know them to be right now. Penelope doesn’t have much of a motive.”

  “Fair enough, though I think you do protest too much. It is plain to me as the twinkling stars outside in the night sky, that you and Penelope care very much for each other.”

  Penelope blushed and Colin stalled for a brief moment.

  “Well, we’re not trying to keep that a secret, still, it doesn’t change the facts.”

  “Very well, go on.”

  “Now we get to Lula. Here we can actually start to dream up motive. As you know, Lula’s treatment at Madge’s hand is abysmal and atrocious. I have no idea why she puts up with it, and it’s been ongoing since I arrived. At least four months, though I dare say it’s actually been going on for years.”

  Lula looked uncomfortably at the coffee table and fiddled with her fingers, gently rubbing the scabs that had crusted her knuckles.

  “It’s been at least a year,” said Matilda, “and I’m sure it’s been going on for much longer.”

  Everybody looked at Lula but she just wanted to curl up into a little ball and be blown out of the living room by any token of breeze.

  “You were reading Carl Jung’s book earlier today, Colin, the psychology of abuse is not well understood and we should rather offer Lula compassion than judgment if we are to help her at all,” said Frances.

  Colin nodded his head.

  “Yes, I suppose, but let’s stick to the facts again and not the psychology. All I’m saying is that Lula has motive. Perhaps she wants to harm her grandmother for all the harm that Madge has caused her.”

  “I would never hurt my grandmother,” mumbled Lula.

  “Not to worry dear, this is just an exercise in sleuthing,” said Frances.

  “So Lula has motive, but then one has to ask, why go to all the trouble of writing these letters, or more likely have someone write them for you? I mean it doesn’t make sense to me. You’re putting the limelight on yourself and making it easier for the police, or you,” said Colin looking at Lady Marmalade, “to catch her. Why not just be done with it, poison the old woman and not leave a trail?”

  “Well, that’s where the facts aren’t very helpful Colin. In my experience, the facts can help you identify the killer but aren’t always helpful in uncovering motive or why they plan or plot or carry it out as they do.”

  Colin ignored what Frances had to say.

  “Lula has motive, and God knows I’d not blame her for wanting to hurt the old lady, but she hasn’t, and she doesn’t strike me as someone who would, either. She’s as meek and mild as a summer breeze.”

  He smiled at her and she offered him a weak smile in return that could easily have been blown off her face by the lightest of the summer breezes he had just spoken of.

  “Dear Colin, you’re going from facts to speculation. If you’re going to stick to the facts,” said Frances, “then you can’t discount Lula based just on your feeling.”

  “Right, I agree. The facts are, Lula has motive, but she hasn’t carried it out yet and I can’t see her going to all that trouble.”

  Colin then looked at Matilda and smiled. He put his hand on her shoulder.

  “Forgive me,” he said, and she scowled at him. “Matilda has motive, too. She was embarrassed by Madge when Madge kicked her boyfriend out, and she’s plainly not happy with the old woman. So Matilda has motive.”

  “Yes, but why would I go to the trouble of writing lett
ers that started before Madge kicked Max out?” asked Matilda.

  “How do you know they started before March?” asked Frances.

  “Lula told us that she had started delivering these letters to Madge back in January.”

  Frances looked at Lula and she nodded her head in embarrassment.

  “And that’s just the thing,” said Colin, “why would you write these letters starting before March when Madge embarrassed you, unless there was some other reason.”

  “Such as?”

  “I’m not going to speculate, I’m just going to stick to the facts. And there are no facts that would offer a reason as to why you might write threatening letters to Madge beginning in January. Other than ever since I arrived in that month, you’ve plainly complained to me about how awful she was. Perhaps you wanted to give her a little scare and then with what happened with Max, it gave you more fuel for the fire?”

  Matilda shrugged and folded her arms across her chest.

  “You see how easy it is to start speculating?” said Frances.

  Colin looked at her and nodded.

  “And that’s why I think we should stick with the facts. The facts are that Matilda has a motive, perhaps just as strong or stronger than Lula’s. A woman scorned, after all, has a fury greater than hell, as Bill, the other old bard, said.”

  “Are you talking about Shakespeare?” asked Matilda.

  Colin looked up at Penelope who grinned back at him.

  “No,” she said, “he’s talking about the other Bill. William Congreve.”

  Colin beamed.

  “You see, I told you she was well read and intelligent.”

  Frances smiled. One could warm to even the prickliest of people when they were in love as Colin was expressing just then.

  “Then wouldn't we need facts as to why Matilda wrote these threatening letters?” asked Frances.

  “Yes, we would, and that’s to come, I suppose, if all evidence points to Matilda.”

  “How nice of you to say,” Matilda said, “to hang a friend out like that.”

  “I’m not done,” said Colin, “as we turn to me. I have motive and perhaps I have even been caught somewhat red handed having said that we should bump her off.”